


The Deputy's Mission

by maikurosaki



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Deputy Bucky Barnes, Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Shrunkyclunks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-05 10:44:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15862035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maikurosaki/pseuds/maikurosaki
Summary: What kind of a police officer would give Captain America a speeding ticket? Apparently, one such as Deputy James 'Bucky' Barnes, who had no qualms about it whatsoever.





	1. In which a speeding ticket is given

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is completely self-indulgent, mostly inspired by the gift that Chris Evans received from RDJ. Also, the title is the cheesiest one I could come up with and it made me laugh out loud so it stayed.

 

What kind of police officer would give Captain America a speeding ticket? People asked that like a joke, because, hey, awesome superhero and all around good guy would never break the law. It would be a _wink wink elbow_ kind of situation even if he did. Not one police officer in their right mind would do such a thing.

But.

Here's the thing.

If anyone would press him hard enough to find out the truth about the entire situation, then Deputy Bucky Barnes would definitely have to mention the fact that he was bored out of his mind. Like absurdly, utterly bored to the point where he had started to count how many trees surrounded his patrol car and what type of trees they were – also, although it was besides the point, he sure as hell didn't get any variety (there was only oak around him), taking into consideration that he was a police officer in a tiny town lost in Michigan's Upper Peninsula. You know, the type of town that roughly counted five thousand people in total and that in general, people found themselves in the difficulty of pointing it out even on a goddamn map.

It was _that_ bad.

So anyway, he was bored out his mind. He had long since finished his third cup of coffee and he had another two hours of this. It was an unusual and cruel method of punishment but it was tremendously effective, therefore, next time when Bucky thought of taking on a gang (well, three) of rowdy (well, technically, intoxicated) loggers by himself, he'd think twice because Sheriff Hansen would skin him alive then would make him go on patrol again and sit at this dead ass corner in the goddamn middle of nowhere. _Again_.

Three cars had passed in the last four hours. _Three_. Two had been local people and one had been a couple of lost tourists looking for the house of the great American author, Jim Morita. Of course, Bucky pretended that he had no clue what the hell they were talking about and he sent them on their merry way because they protected their own around here. That had been two hours ago. _Two_ whole hours.

Bucky was about to question the meaning of his existence when he spotted the car in the distance. Great, he could now add up to his number of cars seen in the last four hours.

Fan-fucking-tastic! That was just peachy.

Bucky rubbed at his stubbled cheeks in frustration when two realizations hit him simultaneously. One, he really needed to shave, he was beginning to look like a goddamn grizzly bear and his beard was itching. Two, the car was going a lot faster than it should on a country road. He pulled out his radar gun and lo and behold, the guy was indeed doing sixty-seven miles per hour when he should have been doing just fifty-five.

Bucky grinned like a lunatic in his slightly dimmer car.

Gotcha!

Also, halle-fucking-lujah!

He turned on his lights and started the engine, announcing dispatch of his movements. Hell yeah! The car didn't belong to any of the locals – Bucky knew them all, he was that pathetic, also the car had a New York plate – and the guy pulled on the right as soon as he noticed Bucky signaling him. Bucky sighed and tightened his thick deputy coat a bit tighter to his body as he pulled out of the car.

The trees had been drowning into the cloudy sky for hours now, the endless mass of grey clouds suffocating. Bucky shivered in the cold wind. It was barely October and the weather was already going to be unbearable. He could feel it in his shotgun wound on his right thigh (three years ago, missed the artery by a millimeter) or in the stabbing wound on the left shoulder (a parting gift from Ricky, their resident bad boy; well, _ex_ -resident bad boy). Oh yeah, Bucky was just a massive ball of sunshine today.

The guy was waiting patiently inside the car, his shoulders slightly wound up but nothing out of the ordinary, which made Bucky slightly less tense as well. At the end of the day, they were in the middle of a goddamn forest and the closest house to where they were was the Jackson place five miles in the opposite direction. He checked the car, a 1967 Chevrolet Camaro, in pristine condition and the little boy inside of Bucky, who still drooled over powerful engines, squealed a little. He wondered how much money he needed to make in a year to afford such a beauty.

He cautiously approached the driver's side and knocked on the window. The man immediately complied by pulling it down, keeping the other hand on the steering wheel. The driver appeared to be fairly composed and calm, which was another good thing.

“Good afternoon, sir. License and registration, please.” He intended for his words to sound authoritative and tough but came out almost strangled because the guy? Was a stunner. Jesus fucking Christ! A real stunner indeed!

The reckless driver was a massive guy. Bucky could tell that just by the way the guy's seat was set as far as it could go but it still gave the feeling that it barely contained the guy. He was wearing his seatbelt, which was good, but he was wearing a black jumper, which wasn't so good, as it showcased his massive shoulders and taut torso. As the driver stared back at him, Bucky noticed he had the bluest eyes that Bucky had ever seen – cornflower and summer skies during a storm – and his square jaw could probably crack rocks or something. His sandy hair was cut short, military style, making him look rougher around the edges. He wasn't the type of guy you wanted to meet in the back of an alley, despite the air of respectability that this guy gave off.

Bucky bit the inside of his cheeks because this was by far the most unprofessional thing he had thought while stopping someone and he really didn't want to set a precedent here. He cursed Sheriff Hansen again and watched guardedly as the guy opened the glove compartment and took out the requested documents, handling them to Bucky, who studied them carefully while keeping an eye on the man.

“Good afternoon, officer,” the driver said and Bucky suppressed the shiver that made his flesh break into goosebumps. It most definitely had everything to do with the cold weather outside and nothing to do with the deep voice of the man, a slight accent – most likely a New Yorker through and through – slipping through his polite words. “Is everything all right?”

“Sir, do you know what I stopped you for?”

“No.” The word sounded curt and resounded much harsher in the silence between them than it should have, the added _I don't read minds_ going unspoken but heavily implied. He watched the man tensing as Bucky took in the details of his driving license at last. A New York driving permit for a guy named Steven Grant Rogers.

“Well, Mr. Rogers, you were doing a sixty-seven in a fifty-five area. Didn't you see the sign?”

“Obviously not, Deputy Barnes.” Bucky's heart didn't clench at the thought that the guy paid enough attention to the badge. “Otherwise I would have paid more attention to the speedometer.” This Rogers guy really didn't have much patience for Bucky and for the fact that he had been stopped if Bucky were to say by the way his name resounded even worse.

“I will have to check these, sir. Please, remain seated in your car.”

“Listen, son,” Mr. Rogers pressed forward before Bucky could even take a step sideways – it made Bucky grit his teeth and his hackles rise because he sure as hell didn't like to be called _son_ by a guy that actually looked about the same age as him. “I've been driving for hours and you clearly have recognized me by now. This doesn't do us any favors. So how about you spare us the wasted time and let me go?”

“Excuse me?” The nerve of this guy. Seriously?

“I said –”

“Oh, I heard you loud and clear, Mr. Rogers,” he interrupted rudely, all friendly demeanor gone and voice flat. “Now, unfortunately for you, I don't give a shit who you are – you could be the president of the USA or Tony Stark himself for all I care and I would still tell you – stay in the fucking car and don't move while I check your documents. Got it?”

The man nodded curtly, surprise for once bleeding into those baby blues but by then Bucky had already moved back towards his patrol car, fuming. Sheriff Hansen was going to hear about this – he could tell. This fucking asshole was one of those guys that just loved to complain; he'd probably go on and on about Bucky's unprofessional behavior, how he used swear words and most likely he was going to have the sheriff rescind his fine. Fuck him! Bucky was so going to give him a speeding ticket if only to prove a point! And then when he was going to get fired because of Mr. Rogers, he was going to get hired at that fucking dive that Dum Dum was working at and drink his life away.

Wow, that got way too dramatic way too quick!

“Hey, dispatch, I need you to check a plate.”

“All right, Bucky, shoot.” Carla's no-nonsense voice calmed him down a little bit so he rattled the number plate and waited for Carla. He looked at the guy's name again. Steven Grant Rogers – where had he heard the name again? It sounded terribly familiar. He checked the date of birth, ready to give the guy a piece of his own mind about calling people 'son' when they were probably the same age and – Wait! Hold on! That couldn't be right.

July 4th, 1918.

Bucky actually rubbed the place several times with his thumb but the year never changed. The entire date never changed for that matter. Something bitter and shameful burnt suddenly inside Bucky's chest and he tried to swallow the rancid taste in his mouth.

“Hey, Bucky?” Carla's voice sounded hesitant and small. Bucky's sinking feeling plummeted to an astounding new level of low. Worse than a sink-hole!

“Yeah, dispatch?”

“Everything is fine with the car. But I think it's got to be a mistake because it comes with a warning and it says that –” She stopped. The silence on the other side rattled Bucky. _Don't say it. Don't say it. Please, don't say it_. “Bucky, did you just stop Captain America?”

Fuck, she said it.

“I think I just did,” Bucky replied, his voice hoarse and tight. His finger almost froze on the radio as he stared down at the goddamn driving license.

“Bucky, don't you dare do anything stupid,” Carla's voice crackled.

“Define stupid.”

“Bucky, the Sheriff is going to murder you and then hide your body if Captain America himself complains that one of his own deputies stopped him in Bum-Fuck Nowhere, and received a speeding ticket as well.”

“Thanks, Carla. But it's already kind of too late for that.”

“Oh shit.”

“My sentiment exactly.”

“Why did you stop him?” She almost whined. Carla never whined. “Out of all the cars that passed you by today –”

“There were only three,” he grumbled.

“– you just had to stop this guy?” Carla barrelled on because she couldn't care less about Bucky's excuses. It would actually set the tone for all future interactions as soon as they touched this subject.

“He was driving above the speed limit.” Bucky set the driving license on the adjacent chair and rubbed at his face again then looked out on the windscreen. Mr. Rogers – Captain America? Captain Rogers? – stared back at him in his rear view mirror. Should Bucky go back and just mention that he indeed confused him with someone else? That his radar gun was broken? That a lot of people – he really meant _a lot_ – had baptized their children with his first and middle name in his honor? That it wasn't such a coincidence to have Rogers as a surname as well? It was a _common_ surname after all.

Bucky broke the eye contact and stared back at the radio. He sighed and grumbled, “Hold that thought, Carla.”

“It was nice meeting you, Bucky. If Captain America doesn't kill you, then Sheriff Hansen sure as hell will.”

“Thank you for the ringing endorsement.”

“Just go and do your duty as a police officer.” Her eye-roll was almost audible across the line. “I know you're planning on doing it anyway.”

“Thank you, dispatch.”

“Whatever. I'm calling Sheriff Hansen in the meantime. If he's going to die of a heart attack on my watch, might as well carry the task to the very end.”

“You're a doll.”

“And you're a moron.” She sighed in that put-upon motherly way she always did with Bucky. “Just be careful, honey. He's a goddamn superhero after all. This could seriously jeopardize everything you've worked hard for.”

“He didn't come across like a vengeful guy but I'll keep it in mind.”

Bucky put the station back and grabbing everything he needed, he went out again. The bitter wind had picked up a little in the meantime, biting at his cheeks and his full hands. The captain was where Bucky left him – they nodded at each other again. Bucky ignored the way something hot coiled down in his belly at the sight of the Captain's shoulders again.

In another life, it would have been an interesting possibility to explore, though he was sure that the star-spangled man with a plan would never consider such things, even though he had been a liberal advocate for the _love is love_ movement. Besides, even if he did, Captain America probably had other famous superheroes at his beck and call, he could probably experiment with whoever he wanted and not a lowly deputy who made so little money it was laughable.

And he really needed to stop thinking about the possibility of him making out with Captain America himself. He was about to give the guy a ticket and lose his job. Jesus, wait till Stark heard of it. Iron Man was notoriously protective of Captain America after the last debacle – he was going to bury Bucky alive. That was unless Black Widow didn't reach him first.

“Look, Mr. Rogers, everything checks out with the car but unfortunately you did break the law. You were more than ten miles above the speed limit so I'll have to give you a ticket.”

“You're still fining me, son?” There was no anger in those words anymore, only slight reluctance at believing that this was actually happening.

“Yes, Mr. Rogers. I am.” Bucky's fingers tightened on the pen. “Look, sir, while I do apologize for the way I talked earlier – it was completely unprofessional of me – you're still a citizen of this country and as such, obligated to respect the law. The law states that the speed limit on all non-interstate highways in the state of Michigan is fifty-five. You were doing sixty-seven in a fifty-five area so in accordance to the state law, you will be fined. You can take it to court and fight it, I'm not saying no, but I've got to do it anyway.”

“I understand, Deputy Barnes.” Captain Rogers nodded. Something softened his features as he added in a gentler tone, “I should apologize as well for the way I spoke to you.”

“No, sir, please, it's understandable. You must be very tired, you know, with saving the world and everything.” A thing that should stop Bucky from fining Captain America. He was going to burn in hell. He was sure of it.

“No, that doesn't excuse it.” Captain Rogers pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

“Trust me, you weren't the worst I've ever had.”

“I can see that. Were you as charming as just now?” Bucky looked up from his scribbles to see the Captain pointing at the still fresh scar on his forehead. Bucky blushed so hard he could feel his ears burning.

“I'm well-known for my charm around these parts.” Bucky shrugged as he finished writing the ticket and gave it to Captain Rogers. “But they were three, sir, and it wasn't that bad. You should see the other guy.”

“That bad?”

“Nope, he actually looked like he had morons like me for breakfast. Not a goddamn scratch on him.” The Captain's startled laugh was genuine and warm and Bucky found himself chuckling, ignoring the cold wind, sharp with the promise of a snow. Bucky explained where Captain Rogers could pay the ticket and how much he would be penalized if he didn't pay it, not that the man couldn't afford it. He also mentioned the process of taking it to court and challenging it. Once Bucky ended his official speech, he smiled contritely at Captain Rogers and rubbed at the back of his neck.

“It was nice meeting you, sir, though I wished it had been in better circumstances.”

“Well, Deputy Barnes, I wished it had been too.” Captain Rogers' lips curled into a soft smile. “But I appreciate your dedication to the law and how you try and abide by it. Now, I didn't exaggerate when I said that I'm tired and I need some place to eat and then sleep. Any recommendations?”

“You're about eleven miles from the town's limits, sir. For a good sleep, I recommend Miss Becca's B&B. It's pretty quiet this time of the year and she serves a mean breakfast. Ask anyone in town and they'll be able to direct you. It's very hard to miss. As for good food, Dernier's diner is the best place in town. Follow the main road as you get into town then second left after the third set of traffic lights.”

“Sounds good. Second left after the third traffic lights, you said?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay, thank you, Deputy Barnes.”

“You're welcome, sir. Have a pleasant stay in our town.” Bucky looked down and sideways, biting his lip in a poor attempt to calm down. “Please, don't judge the others by our encounter alone. I promise you the people from Waterfalls are much more pleasant and welcoming.”

“You were not too bad, Deputy.” Captain Rogers smirked this time and Bucky dared to look at him only to blush way harder than a thirty-three-old man should.

“Thank you, I guess,” he mumbled like a teenager talking with his crush for the first time. Bucky was going to burn in hell for thinking that Captain America flirted with him. “Drive safely, sir.”

“I'll keep it to the speed limit, Deputy. I promise.”

Did Captain America just _wink_ at him? Wink? At him? Bucky was going to die of a heart attack all over again and this national fucker of an icon knew it if Bucky were to judge by the way he smirked again and pulled the window back up.

Bucky shook his head and returned to his patrol car and tried to forget about the fact that he had just ticketed Captain America, had a relatively friendly chat with him and that he was about to lose his job. Bucky checked his watch and groaned. Almost done.

Sheriff Hansen was going to hand his ass to him.

Time to face the music.

~*~*~

Three hours later and a rimming from Sheriff Hansen to end all rimmings (and not the nice kind either), Bucky entered the diner and took the first unoccupied booth and smacked his head against the solid table.

“Hey, what did my table do to you?” Dernier's thick French accent did nothing to calm Bucky down so he groaned like the over-grown baby that he was and hit his forehead against the hard surface repeatedly.

“I hate myself.”

“Oh, _bien_ , I thought you were just a tad dramatic over there.”

“Shut up and pour me some coffee,” Bucky mumbled into the thick wood of the table.

“It's almost nine o'clock in the evening. I'm not going to give you coffee just before going to bed.”

“I hate you.”

“Oh, so from self-hate to friends-hate. Nice.” Jacques, or Jack to most of them, slapped him over the head. “Stop being melodramatic.”

“Hey!” Bucky tilted his head just so and peered through his eyelashes at one of his best friends. Jacques just stared him down, completely unimpressed by his antics. “I really screwed it up,” Bucky added by means of explaining his theatrics.

“Really? Worse than the fight last week?”

“Yeah.”

“Worst than last Halloween when Dum Dum convinced you to dress up like Black Widow?”

“Hey, I was a beautiful Black Widow.”

“That you were, mon ami, but that's besides the point. Was it worse than that?”

“Yeah.”

“Could be the fact that you gave a speeding ticket to Captain America himself?”

“How the fuck do you know about that?” Bucky's head rose so fast he almost gave himself a whiplash.

“Puh-lease, Carla made sure that the whole town knows it. Also, Sheriff Hansen's howls were so loud, any passerby could have heard him from across the street.” Dernier pointedly stared at his fingers, then at Bucky utterly unaffected. “Also, the good captain is behind you so we kind of got the story from the horse's mouth, so to speak.”

Bucky blushed so hard he might as well have called the fire department. He turned slightly towards his side to see Captain Rogers resting one arm against the chair of the adjacent booth, looking at Bucky with a definitely brash grin on his full lips. Oh God, Bucky would have loved to just lean forward and lick that grin off his face, possibly using his lips as well. Bucky's ears were burning and his blood rushed to his ears, drowning everything. He turned back and slammed his head against the table a few more times.

“ _Mon Dieu_ , if I see one drop of blood on that table, I'll personally spit in your burger next time,” Dernier hissed and Bucky looked up at him betrayed and embarrassed.

“You made me embarrass myself in front of Captain Rogers. It's the least you deserve.”

“I wasn't the one that gave him a speeding ticket.”

“Also, for the record, your sister mentioned a few things about you already.” Seriously, could anyone believe this guy? He really didn't think that Captain America could be such a little shit.

“Whatever things she mentioned, they're all silly rumors and wild accusations. Vile lies, I say.” Bucky stood straighter and pulled out his puppy-dog eyes at Dernier. “Could you please bring me the usual? I need to clog one artery or all.”

“Mon ami, the whole grease in the world isn't going to help you get out of this, but sure thing.”

“Thanks. You're a pal. But we'll have words about this. Don't think you're getting away with it so easily.”

“French words?” Dernier grinned and winked at his friend, sauntering behind the counter again.

“Fucking Gaelic, if I have to!” Bucky yelled after him only to be met with a dismissive wave. Bucky turned to Captain Rogers again, swallowing hard. “I'm sorry, I swear I'm not such a human disaster usually.”

“Nothing to apologize for.” Captain Rogers gestured towards his booth. “Want to join me?”

“Sure.” Bucky stood up and joined Captain Rogers to his table. He mustn't have been there long because the fries were barely touched and there were only two bites into his burger resting next to another one.

Captain Rogers smiled softly at him and Bucky blinked a few times. No one ever mentioned how attractive Captain America really was. Only every magazine published on the face of the earth, every gossip site, and news channel. God, Bucky really needed to pull his shit together or this was going to end up as a fucking disaster.

“I feel like we should start over,” Captain Rogers said and extended his hand. “Steve Rogers, nice to meet you.”

“James Barnes, but everyone calls me Bucky. Nice to meet you too, sir.” They shook hands. Calloused hands (probably from the shield), warm and strong (probably from being human). Bucky subtly checked their surroundings but no one paid them any attention, not that there were many people inside the diner. Dernier would close soon anyway.

“Bucky?”

“Unfortunate middle name, sir.” Bucky winced and returned his attention to Captain Rogers.

“Please, don't call me 'sir'. Steve is fine.” Captain Rogers – _Steve_ – leaned back against the chair. “Also, I need to know how you ended up dressed like Black Widow.”

“God,” Bucky groaned and scrunched his nose as he stole a fry from the captain's plate. “It involved too much vodka, the terrible fact that I look good in leather, and she's a real badass. Well, you'd know since she's your friend.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Steve smiled softly again. “Thank you for sending me to your sister. She's really lovely.”

“That she is.” Bucky stole another fry and dipped it into ketchup. “I didn't lie about her breakfast – it's awesome.”

“Yes, she did mention something about you mooching off her.”

“Jesus, that little ungrateful brat. See if I ever bring customers to her.” Bucky took another fry and shoved it into his mouth quickly.

“I tend to believe her accusations since technically, you've been stealing my fries for the past five minutes.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about, pal,” Bucky said, mouth full of another fry. Steve chuckled. Dernier chose that moment to send Sandra to bring him the usual – double cheeseburger, a large portion of fries, some pickles and some garlic bread because Bucky wasn't joking about clogging his arteries. Also, a strawberry milkshake because he wasn't an animal.

Steve stared at his plate amused and then took his own burger and bit into it. For the next ten minutes or so, their conversation was sparse, mostly eating in silence. Bucky couldn't help but notice that Steve had changed into a red flannel shirt, his white undershirt barely visible. It did nothing to hide his wide shoulders, hard as rocks, and possibly larger than those of Atlas himself. Not that theoretically, Bucky had any idea of how Atlas would look like in the first place.

Moreover, Captain Rogers wasn't a small man – Bucky still remembered the exhibition at the Smithsonian in seventh grade and how little Steve Rogers had been in those pre-war pictures compared to now – and their knees touched every once in a while, sending short jolts of warm throughout his whole body.

“So I have to ask,” Bucky said, after he had polished his food with much gusto and by now he was drinking his strawberry milkshake as if it was his third cup of coffee. Steve eyed him warily as he took a sip of his coffee (black, no sugar). “How much back pay does the army still owe you and also, can I get some?”

“Nope, I'm afraid not,” Steve replied, chuckling softly. “I used your part to pay my speeding ticket so there's nothing left.”

“Harsh, Cap, harsh.”

“Please, call me Steve.”

“It's a bit difficult to do that, sir.”

“How come?”

“Well, my grandpa from my father side was a World War two veteran so it wouldn't sit well with him to show you any sort of disrespect.”

“You don't. I personally asked you to call me Steve, so no disrespect would be involved.” Steve frowned again and the playful light that had glimmered into his eyes just a few seconds ago withered away. Bucky mourned its disappearance.

“Fine, fine,” Bucky pretended to be put upon. “That's hardly a hardship from my part but you'll have to call me Bucky then.”

“Yeah, you really drive a hard bargain.”

“I really do.” Bucky grinned and took another sip from his milkshake. “If you don't mind me asking though, Steve, what the hell are you doing around these parts of the country?”

“What, you're trying to say there's nothing to see around here?”

“Yeah, sure. There's trees and more trees, the occasional lake, and then even more trees.”

“Sounds like you had enough of trees.”

“I kind of do. But then, as soon as I visit my parents in Indiana and I see those endless corn fields, I crave to return to the sea of the trees here.”

“If you don't mind me asking, how did you and your sister end up here?”

“Well, we originally lived here. And then when my grandparents on my father's side died, they left most of their properties to my dad, who really wanted to return to his home state.” Bucky shrugged and looked outside the window to see a big blue pick up truck pulling into the parking lot and stopping aside from the diner. He looked back at Steve. “Then my grandmother died – she was the only remaining relative from my mom's side and she was from around these parts – and she left everything to me and Becca. And my sister chose to transform the house into a B&B.”

“And you chose to be a cop,” Steve filled in the gap, tone affectionate and Bucky wasn't sure he deserved such a friendly talk, after playing the hard-ass cop with the man and giving him a speeding ticket.

“Yeah, I guess I did.” Bucky turned his attention towards the blue pick up truck outside again and said suddenly quite tired, “If you'll excuse me for just a moment.”

“Sure.”

Bucky stood up and from three long strides he was at the door of the diner, opening it with such a force that the bell above it screamed in frustration. Bucky got out in the frigid air of autumn and went straight to the driver's side of the pickup truck. The window immediately opened.

“What the hell are you doing here, Dale?” Bucky asked and watched his ex-boyfriend narrow his eyes in annoyance. God, he had always hated that about Dale. It made him look like an insufferable prick, which, to be fair, he had been at times.

“Dum Dum mentioned about your brawl last week and I wanted to check up on you.”

“And?” Bucky felt his heart turn to ice in his chest, even as Dale's almond eyes softened.

“And to say goodbye, Bucky. I'm leaving this God-forsaken town tomorrow morning. For good this time.” Dale's mouth crumpled in unhappiness and Bucky bit his lip hard because he sure as hell didn't need this right now. He and Dale had been a thing a while back – two years ago and had fooled around even after the break up because it was goddamn hard to be gay around these parts – but it still hurt. He knew about Dale's plans, of course. The guy had come and gone quite a lot in the past year.

Bucky took a deep breath, something hard scraping against his ribs, leaving him to feel raw and hollow.

“You take care of yourself out there, Dale,” he said at last with as much affection as he could muster for the guy. “You hear?”

“Goddamn it, Buck, why do you have to be such a fucking nice asshole every goddamn time?” Dale almost sobbed the words as he grabbed a fistful of Bucky's uniform and pulled him forward hard. He pressed his cheek against Bucky's and took a deep breath. “I'm going to miss the hell out of you, you bastard.”

“You dumped me, remember?” Bucky grumbled but let his fingers curl around Dale's nape and ran his fingers through the hair at the base of his head with the same gentleness that he had reserved for men only in the bedroom.

“You be careful too, yeah?” Dale rubbed his cheek against Bucky's. “Stop taking loggers on your own.”

“I'll try my best.” Bucky pulled back and Dale let him go, arm suddenly limp in his lap, the other white-knuckled on the steering wheel. He avoided Bucky's eyes and stared into the thick night that surrounded them. “You have a safe trip. Let me know you arrived safely, wherever the hell that might be.”

“I will.” It was an empty promise as much as the rest of them had been. Dale wasn't ever going to text again and they both knew it. He'd never been good about commitment in the first place and he hadn't been good at staying in a place more than a handful of seasons.

Bucky clapped his shoulder and let him go. It didn't hurt anymore but there was a sort of odd melancholy wrapping around the both of them. Dale winked, his eyes dark and liquid in the semi-darkness of the parking lot.

Bucky watched the blue pick up long after it left the parking lot, a hollow sort of sentiment pressing against his ribs and making him ignore the cold outside. It was stupid to feel so affected by Dale's goodbye – he was surprised the guy deigned Bucky worthy of a goodbye in the first place – when the things between them had always lacked a sense of depth and honesty.

His coat was draped on his shoulders reassuringly and Bucky startled. He turned his head only to glance at Steve's kind eyes.

“I thought you might be cold,” Steve muttered gently and took in Bucky's sad eyes. Bucky looked down and embarrassed, he wiped at his face as a hollow laugh exploded from the depth of his throat.

“God, what a day, huh?” Bucky said at last and turned to Captain Rogers. “I need a shower and a bed, not necessarily in this particular order.”

“Are you all right?” Steve asked ignoring his rambling.

“Yeah, I'm good. I'm always good, Cap.”

“Steve.”

“Steve.” Bucky could feel his lips curling into a resemblance of a smile. “Thank you for this. I'd better get back and pay Dernier or I won't hear the end of it.”

“I took care of it, don't worry.”

“Huh?”

“It's taken care of.”

“No, no, Steve. I couldn't possibly let you do that. Not after what I put you through today.”

“No, don't worry about it.” Steve looked around them. “But you could thank me by showing me back to your sister's place because I honestly don't think I could make my way back through this darkness.”

“God, sure, of course.” Bucky passed his arms through the sleeves of the coat and smiled at Steve. “Thank you. Next time's on me.” Bucky bit his lip as soon as he heard himself saying that. “Not that – I think, I mean –”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Steve stared back at Bucky, his eyes inscrutable and painfully searing, and Bucky swallowed thickly. “But I think I'll stick around here for a while. So I'll take you up on that.”

“Uhm, sure.” What the hell was going on here? As Bucky returned to his car and started the engine, he wondered whether the Captain wasn't already one step ahead of him in this odd game. Though what was the end game in all of this, Bucky couldn't say.

But he had the bad feeling he was about to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you [lambchop33](archiveofourown.org/users/lambchop33/pseuds/lambchop33) for the beta. As always, you're my hero and my savior. <3 Any remaining mistake is mine and mine alone.
> 
> I'm back to my favorite trope because apparently, I live for Shrunkyclunks. :))) Also, I needed to take a break from my angsty Big Bang story so this comes in handy. This story will be updated once a week.


	2. In which Bucky plays the local guide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a little bit of swearing, courtesy of Mr. Tmothy 'Dum Dum' Dugan. :)

Bucky watched the way the steam swirled in the night. He squirmed a little, trying to find a more comfortable position on Becca's rocking chair. He kept his hands on the cup of hot cocoa that his sister had made for him before sending him on the porch, probably to think over what he'd done and do some penance. Bucky didn't feel inclined to do either.

He watched the street lights flickering through the thick branches of the trees, still bearing some of their leaves like medals of honor. Soon, they would fade to that orangey color, always so mesmerizing, and then cover Becca's front lawn in a multicolor carpet. For some reason, Bucky had always loved the smell of rotting leaves in the rain. Though autumn around these parts wasn't the most pleasant of seasons.

But then again neither was winter.

He carefully drank from the still hot cocoa, trying to stop thinking about the only other guest in the house. Captain Steve Rogers. Wow, Bucky never thought that he'd ever be able to catch a glimpse of the guy, not to mention speak to him. The memory of seeing Captain America lost and completely heart-broken in the middle of Times Square still didn't sit well with him. The news had broken immediately following his resurrection and had spread like wildfire. Bucky still remembered the rancid taste in his mouth when he stared at Steve's abject disappointment and he was sure that he hadn’t been the only person feeling sorry for the guy.

Bucky tightened his hands on the hot cup. The guy had been saving America and the world for the past six years at the cost of his own personal life and health and as thanks, Bucky gave him a speeding ticket. _A goddamn speeding ticket_. What the fuck was he thinking?

“I can't believe you're such a moron,” his sister hissed suddenly and slapped Bucky across the head before taking a seat next to him in the other rocking chair. Her blue eyes burnt with righteous fury.

“Ow, that hurt!”

“You deserve so much more, dipshit! Don't even start.” Becca pulled her knitted sweater tighter to her body, staring him down. “Of all the stupid things that you could have possibly done, you just had to go and fine Captain America.”

“He was doing past the legal speed limit.”

“Oh, I'm sure that Tony Stark will love to hear that when he buries you so far down the earth that patrolling that dead ass corner of the road for the rest of your life will seem like heaven. It will be the surface of the earth twice, magma, the core of the earth, and _then_ you, by the time he finishes with you.”

“All citizens of this country are obligated to respect the law, Captain America included.” He rolled his eyes annoyed. “What does it matter if he's Captain America or not? What? If he starts killing innocent people just because he feels like it, we should ignore that because hey, the guy's saving the country every once in a while. Besides, the guy's a law-abiding citizen – he seems like the only one not angry that he received a speeding ticket. Which, I might add, that is pocket change for him anyway. Do you know where the guy lives?”

“You ran over that speech in your head several times, didn't you?” Becca glanced sideways at him. “I should probably tell you that it doesn't sound convincing at all but please, do continue to dig your own hole. I'm sure not even our ancestors would be able to get you out of that one.”

“I thought sisters are supposed to be more supportive than this.” Buck scowled at Becca but she just shrugged it away.

“I made you hot cocoa. That should be more than enough support, even for you.”

“Oh yeah, I can feel the love.”

“Be happy that I didn't tell mom. Or dad. Oh wow, this is such a good blackmail material for me.” She patted him on the shoulder playfully and grinned mischievously. “Please, be more of a moron. I dare you!” She literally cackled like a mad witch, before picking up her mug again and drinking her own cocoa. Bucky carefully bumped their shoulders together and she laughed out loud at him. Not with him. _At him_. Let him be clear on that.

They spent the next few minutes in silence as they finished their cocoa.

“Why is he here, Bucky?” Becca asked quietly after a while.

“I wish I could answer that one, but he's quite good at deflecting questions about himself.” Bucky ran his fingers through his hair and bit his lip. Situations like this made him miss smoking, which he had given up three years ago when running and breathing seemed much more difficult to do at the same time. “But he looks tired.”

“Tired and underfed.”

“I honestly don't think they've been starving him in that fancy tower where he lives.”

“Yeah, I bet Stark has hired personal chefs or something for each of the Avengers.” Becca shrugged as she looked down at her cup. “But he still looks underfed. Not like they're not feeding him properly but more like he doesn't have the time to simply enjoy food and life in general.”

“Who knows what his real life looks like? I bet he has tons of enemies. Besides, six years aren't enough to catch up with seventy years of missed life and opportunities.” Bucky scratched his right cheek. “Not that I'd presume to understand Captain America's psyche when I've just fined the guy. But he didn't appear to enjoy actually throwing his name or _myself_ around.” Bucky chuckled but it sounded slightly hollowed. “Captain America, an American icon and all around good guy, sleeping in one of your rooms. I can't believe it.”

“Me neither.” She set the empty cup next to her chair and pulled the sleeves of her knitted jumper over her hands then pulled her knees to her chest. “I couldn't believe it when I saw him on my porch. I thought of throttling you when he mentioned you recommended the place.” Her lips curled playfully. “He's awfully attractive. He makes me feel ugly and I'm never ugly.”

“I'm glad your self-esteem is as intact as ever.”

“But seriously, tell me you wouldn't bone that.”

“I'd let him bone me without any hesitation.”

“Bucky, oh my God!” She squealed and laughed out loud at him. His ears were burning slightly but he couldn't blame the cold. He ran his fingers through his hair again just so he'd have something to do with his hands.

“He's really handsome,” he concluded after a while when his sister was still chuckling. “But I don't think he'd be much inclined to have me in his bed. Maybe you.”

“He has to be a little bisexual at least.”

“Yeah, let's not discuss Captain America's sexuality on your porch when he's sleeping just one floor up.” Bucky stretched and the small of his back immediately felt better. He shook his head a few times and he could almost hear the tension slipping away. He rolled his shoulders, one of them giving a satisfying pop. “Speaking of who's boning who, Dale came by Dernier's diner while I was there with Captain Rogers,” he changed the subject.

“That asshole?” Becca stood up straighter in her rocking chair. “What the hell did he want?”

“To say goodbye.”

“How nice of him! How many times now?”

“Three, so far this year.” Bucky leaned forward and pressed his forearms against his knees. “But I think this time is for real.”

“Yeah? Well, good riddance I say!” Becca waved impatiently. “One less asshole in this town.” She eyed him warily when he remained silent and gently pressed a covered hand on his shoulder. Even through the thickness of his coat and her knitted sweater, he could still feel her warmth and affection. So he slightly leaned into her, his sister always the anchor that he needed. “I hope that he didn't say something stupid.”

“No, he was actually nice.” Bucky tilted his head so he could catch a glimpse of her face. “Which makes me think that he'll be gone tomorrow morning. For good this time.”

“I'm sorry but I'm glad. He's too much of an asshole and I don't have the patience to listen to any crap related to him anymore .”

“Glad to see you still have my back.”

“As always.” She patted him a few times. “That means that I also need to remind you it's time for you to go to bed.” She kissed the side of his head and he pressed his cheek against hers for a moment before he stood up and popped the small of back again.

“God, I feel so old,” he groaned. Becca chuckled.

“I think all this popping has more to do with the fact that the damn logger wiped the floor with you.”

“Oh, wow, you're just so lovely today, aren't you?” Bucky shook his head in dismay. “Is there anything nice you can say about me?”

“Yeah, ask Captain America to give you some free lessons in self-defense.” She smirked. “I bet you'd love that.” She actually winked at him.

“You're a little shit sometimes.”

“And you're a big one but you don't hear me saying it, do you?”

“You just did! Also, that doesn't make any sense.”

“Just go to bed, you moron.”

“I'm going, I'm going.”

“You'll thank me in the morning.” Becca grabbed the cups and kissed him on the cheek. “See you tomorrow morning. Come for breakfast if you feel like it.”

“I will.” Bucky kissed her on the crown of her head then watched her get back inside the house.

He checked that his patrol car was locked then walked towards his apartment, which was above an old garage that Becca and he used to store memories, things they didn't use anymore, and a lot of other stuff that had been there since time immemorial. This annex offered him also a great view of the property and the guests always felt so much better when they found out that he was around. Apparently, some people turned quite apprehensive when they were surrounded by too many trees.

Bucky climbed the stairs like an old man, holding the rail for support. As he opened the door, he couldn't help but glance on the eastern corner of the main house, where the light of a lamp was still on. He shook his head in wonder and closed the door after him.

Well, well, well, who would have thought Captain America himself would walk amongst them? Bucky's forehead creased into a pensive frown as he took his coat off and put it on a hanger. Underfed and tired. Becca wasn't one for exaggeration and Bucky tended to listen to her, especially when it came to people. Something was wrong with this picture.

He went straight to the bedroom and switched on the lamp by his bed, beginning to undress. Rebecca had been right about Cap being beautiful as well. But then again, Bucky had always thought that Steve Rogers was beautiful, even in those pre-war pictures, taken in the pre-war Brooklyn, hands stained of paint and face lit up by a shy grin. Or in the ones taken during his army stage when he and Peggy Carter had stared at each other as if they were the sun and the moon. That serum hadn't changed the essence of him. He'd been quite recognizable under all those muscles and new uniform afterward.

He turned on the hot water and stepped into the shower, shivering slightly. Yeah, Captain Rogers looked tired and underfed. But he also looked –

 _Alone_.

Bucky bowed his head and let the hot spray of water hit the sore muscles of his shoulders, still bruised and scarred. He shook his head. Why did he even bother thinking of all of this? The guy was going to leave first thing in the morning and that would be all.

~*~*~

Morning came with the diffuse light of the sun spilling messily around his tiny kitchen, making everything look softer around the edges. The sun played hide and seek with the clouds and the tops of the trees surrounding the property. He started the coffee maker and stretched again, his naked toes scuffling along the cold wooden floor. He scratched at his stomach and stared out of the window. Without meaning to, his eyes glided to the eastern corner of the main house where one of the windows was already wide open. Captain Rogers was already awake. Maybe he'd even had breakfast and checked out by now.

Bucky shook his head, ignoring the pang of regret. Yeah, Cap made it sound last night as if he was planning to stick around for a while but Bucky had learned a long time ago not to believe in polite but empty promises.

With the coffee maker happily bubbling in the background, he scratched his left cheek and yawned loudly as he opened the fridge and took an inventory: three slices of cheese, two eggs, and some bacon that looked dangerous enough not to feed even the wild animals with. There was also a gallon of milk for some reason. Bucky stared at it uncomprehendingly because seriously, why would he have so much milk? He yawned again and opened the door of the cupboard above the fridge. Yeah, he still had some Cheerios left so there you go. Decision made by the fate, Bucky took the milk out and closed the door of the fridge, yawning so hard he heard his jaw pop.

There was a soft knock to the door that he hardly heard on account of yawning so much. He took out a bowl and yelled, “Come in!” He hummed happily as he poured himself a generous cup of coffee. “You're just in time for the wonderful brew of the gods, Beccs, and some milk and cereals if you're up for it.”

“Thank you for the invite, Buck.”

“Oh shit.” Bucky spilled some of the coffee on his hand as he swirled around just in time to see Captain America leaning against the doorway with a lopsided smile on his face. He was dressed into another one of those revealing sweaters of his, this time blue navy, and a pair of blue jeans. The nice black boots made Bucky think that the good captain was ready for a long trip.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you.” Steve bowed his head slightly and peered at him through his thick eyelashes – fuck, no man should have such thick eyelashes – and Bucky might have melted a little if it weren't for that cheeky grin playing on Cap's lips. Yeah, he really didn't sound apologetic at all. On the contrary, if Bucky didn't know any better, he'd say that Steve Rogers came in like this specifically to take Bucky by surprise.

“Nah, don't worry about it. I just thought you were Becca, already checking up on me.” He put the mug on the table and took a tissue to wipe his hand and the floor, trying to smother down the deep desire to hide behind a chair or something. His ratty basketball shorts were ghastly and not fit for human contemplation.

“You're not on duty today?”

“Night shift. It's my turn to man the station.”

“Doesn't sound too nice.”

“Nope, it isn't.” Bucky pointed at his coffee maker. “Want some coffee? I just brewed it.”

“Yeah, sure.”

The surreal quality of the entire situation made Bucky simply pull out another mug and pour some coffee. “Milk? Sugar?”

“No, thank you.”

“Ah, a man after my own heart.” Bucky blushed as soon as the last word left his lips and stared at some point over Captain Rogers' shoulder. “Please, have a seat.” As soon as Captain Rogers entered fully into the kitchen, Bucky realized how ridiculously large the man was. He shrunk Bucky's kitchen by half just by being in it, not that it was big in the first place. They both sat at the table and drank their coffee, Bucky's naked knees touching Cap's ones and honestly, he was really uncomfortable with where this was all going in his mind.

The awkwardness of the entire situation didn't escape Bucky. He was completely underdressed for the occasion – some ratty basketball shorts and a long-sleeved t-shirt – and he was still barely awake. Bucky and mornings didn't do well together.

“So, how can I help you, sir?” Bucky asked when he couldn't bear the silence any longer.

“I thought that we agreed on you calling me Steve.” Cap took a sip from his coffee, peering at Bucky above the rim of the mug. Something hot jolted through his belly and Bucky had to swallow once before answering.

“Yeah, sorry, the coffee hasn't kicked in yet. I'm not exactly a morning person.” He smiled apologetically. “How can I help you, Steve?”

“I want to know Waterfalls a little bit better so I'm in need of a guide.”

"The town or the nature surrounding it?"

"Well, I already know where to have a good meal and where to pay a speeding ticket, thanks to a certain deputy that I know.” Steve raised the mug in salute, the smirk all familiar by now. “So I'd go with nature."

"Were you always this much of a punk or did it come with age?"

"I age like a fine wine, Buck. I have no clue what you're talking about."

"Yeah, sure." Bucky rolled his eyes. "Fine, nature it is. But we definitely need to find you a coat and some better boots."

"What's wrong with my boots?"

"Nothing is wrong with them. You know, if you want to make a fashion statement." Bucky smirked quite proud of himself.

"You're kind of a jerk, aren't you?"

"Oh pal, you have no idea."

“But you'll be my guide, right?”

“Of course I'll be your guide. It's the least I could do.”

“Is this related to the speeding ticket you gave me?”

“People made me feel guilty. I made myself guilty.” Bucky leaned back against the chair and took another gulp of the still hot coffee that scalded his throat. “I've been a bit of a shmuck.”

“A bit of?”

“A lot of?”

“No, you weren't.” Steve rested his forearms on the table, hands still around the coffee mug. “Look, I broke the law, I needed to pay for it. I'm not above it no matter what other people say about it. So stop moping around. Come and be my guide around these parts.”

“Hey, Captain America knows what moping means.” Bucky grinned happily with the discovery.

Steve shook his head amusedly and said, “I have enough friends, who insist on teaching me how people talk these days.”

“I thought you were going to say 'kids this days'.”

“Don't you have some changing of clothes to do?” Steve asked slightly exasperated. “Also, find me a coat and some boots?”

“I'm going, I'm going,” he huffed as he stood up, ignoring Steve's smirk. “Jesus, and I thought Becca was demanding.”

~*~*~

So this was how two hours later, with a belly full of Becca's awesome breakfast and more awesome coffee, and with a hearty lunch in the trunk of the car – _God, Bucky, I'm not going to let you feed Captain America bad food_ – Bucky rang at Dum Dum's door then slammed the heel of his hand against it for good measure.

“I hope you burn in the deepest of hell, you fucking dickhead!” Dum Dum yelled from inside the house before he finally opened the door dressed in some sweats and undershirt but his bowler hat still present. “Fucking Bucky Barnes! I swear only you could be that much of an asshole!”

“Shut the fuck up and give me one of your brother's coats! Some boots, too!” Bucky said as he pushed past him, followed by Steve at a more sedate pace.

“Why the fuck do you need Bear's coat and boots?” Dum Dum asked as he slammed the door shut and joined them in the small but clean living-room. “Also, fucker, I went to sleep like an hour ago.” Dum Dum yawned loudly and rubbed his eyes then finally glanced at the man accompanying Bucky.

“Well, it's not my fault you don't go straight to bed when you come home but waste time awake to speak with your wife.”

“Fuck you!” Dum Dum rubbed again at his eyes but the sight didn't seem to change for him. “James Barnes, did you just let me swear and behave like an animal in front of Captain America himself?”

“I didn't _let_ you do anything, asshole!” Bucky crashed on the couch and watched his friend impassively. “You did that all by yourself.”

“You'll never get a free drink in my bar ever again,” Dum Dum hissed as he pulled off his bowler hat with one hand and extended his other one. “I'm so sorry, sir. Timothy Dugan at your service. People call me Dum Dum around these parts.”

“Nice to meet you, Timothy.” Steve shook his hand with a friendly smile. “And please, don't apologize. I was raised in Brooklyn. I promise you _fuck_ and _shit_ have always been part of my vernacular. Also, please, call me Steve.”

“I don't feel special anymore,” Bucky mumbled from the couch when hearing the friendly offer of first names use.

“You were never special, Barnes,” Dum Dum sneered, even though he was still shaking the cap's hand for more than what was deemed appropriate. “Also, why do you need Bear's coat? And his boots?”

“I'm afraid those are for me,” Steve answered before Bucky could come up with another jibe. "Apparently, your brother is the only man tall and wide enough for me to be able to borrow some clothes from him. I've been told mine are inappropriate for hiking.”

“Yeah, sir – Steve.” Dum Dum finally let go of his hand and put on his bowler hat back on. “This asshole was right though. I think Bear's clothes might fit you.” Dum Dum made an attempt to disappear into an adjacent room but Cap stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Wouldn't your brother mind?”

“He's down in Ontario at the moment, working for a fancy company or something. But he'd be honored, sir – Steve. I promise.”

“Sure.” Steve let him go and Dum Dum disappeared inside the other room. Cap turned to Bucky and watched him admonishingly. “You really are kind of a jerk.”

“Please, the asshole waited to make two cocktails, before lending me a hand with those loggers.” Bucky grinned sharply. “It's the least he deserved to be awoken by Captain America himself.”

Steve was about to answer when Dum Dum returned into the room. His mustache was twitching and he looked damn pleased with himself, hands full with a huge coat and a pair of sturdy black boots.

“I think these should fit you just fine, s-Steve.” Before Steve could even reply, Dum Dum helped him get out of his peacoat and into the thick coat, arranging it around his wide shoulders and swiping away invisible lint. They both turned smiling at Bucky, who pretended to study the cuticles of his fingers. He glanced at them, trying to keep his indifferent air, while his throat tensed. Steve looked – looked _better_. As if by shedding that coat, he had also shed at least part of that invisible burden that he seemed to be carrying around.

“Looks good,” he said at last, voice almost cracking. “See if the boots fit too.” Of course, they fitted, because Bucky was awesome and knew everything. “You look like a proper forest ranger now,” Bucky decided and he smiled as he stood up, mentally giving himself a fist bump for thinking so quickly.

“Thank you, Timothy. Much appreciated.” Steve shook his friend's hand as a warm smile bloomed on his lips.

“You're welcome. Also, please call me Dum Dum. Everyone calls me that, except this asshole,” Dum Dum added, pointing at Bucky, “who will address me as Mr. Dugan from now on.”

“Fuck off, I won't do any such thing.” Bucky scowled at him as he guided Steve towards the door. The quicker they got out of here, the better chances for Bucky to make it out of this with his pride still intact.

“Bye, Dum Dum. Thanks for everything. I promise to clean them before bringing them back.”

“Please, keep them for as long as you need.” Dum Dum let Steve made his way to the car before he pulled Bucky back by the collar of his coat and hissed in his ear, “Don't mess it up, asshole. I swear on all things holy, if you don't treat him right, I'll end you.”

“I am, I am. Jesus, what's with all the threats here lately?”

“You're pretty good at messing up the good things that come your way.” Dum Dum let him go and said in a nicer tone of voice, “Be the charming guy that everyone knows you can be and he'll eat from the palm of your hand.”

“Jesus, Dum Dum, no wonder we call you dumb.” Bucky scowled as he straightened his coat then shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat. “This isn't a date. I'm just being friendly.”

“Sure, of course. Call it as you want.”

“He isn't gay,” Bucky hissed, checking to make sure that Steve wasn't within the hearing range.

“How do you know? Have you asked him?”

“Shut up.” Bucky pushed at Dum Dum's face and stepped out on the porch. “Jones is on patrol tonight so call _him_ if you want some help with the loggers.”

“What about you?”

“I'm manning the station. Hurt in the line of duty and what-not.”

“Sheriff Hansen made you do paperwork, didn't he?” Dum Dum smirked.

“So much paperwork,” Bucky whined. “I expect to finish by the time I retire.”

“Serves you right.” Dum Dum waved at Captain America then mumbled, “He doesn't look okay if you ask me.”

“Becca said the same thing but I think we should give the guy a break. I mean, he does save the world on a regular basis.” Bucky ignored the tight clenching that gripped his chest. There were now several people that thought that Captain America didn't look good and it didn't sit well with him.

“Yeah, maybe you're right.” Dum Dum's eyes narrowed as he glanced at Steve again. “But let's take care of him while he's around here.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Bucky clapped him on the shoulder. “Speak to you later, big guy.”

“Whatever, Barnes.” Dum Dum swatted his hand away. “You still owe me.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Steve was waiting for him by the car, taking in the surroundings. Dum Dum didn't live in the best part of the town but, although the houses were smaller and some of them needed some paint, every lawn was kept impeccable and the area was generally clean.

“All set?” Steve asked as soon as Bucky reached him.

“Yeah, let's go, pal. We've got much to see.”

~*~*~

The forest road that Bucky chose for their adventure brought them through several of Bucky's favorite places as he gave Steve a small lecture on the history and traditions that were still kept alive in Waterfalls. The generous view over the town at some point made even Cap whistle in admiration. The town laid at their feet, drowning in a sea of multicolored trees, breaking every now and then through the leafy waves.

Waterfalls was quite isolated compared to other towns around the area, a fact that seemed pointed out by the way it seemed to squeeze in between the mountains on its eastern and southern border and the deep ocean of forest on the northern and western sides. It didn't help that the buildings that made up Waterfalls weren't too tall – mostly one or two stories up. The only buildings that could be pointed out clearly in the green ocean were the towers of the two churches, one Catholic, the other Presbyterian. The tower of the Town Hall could barely be seen. On a foggy day, from up there, Waterfalls appeared like a ghost town, visible only to the initiated ones.

Bucky was glad that, in spite of the quite cold wind, they had a beautiful day where Steve could catch a break and see something different. For a moment, hot and bitter shame coursed through his veins. He was grateful that he had the possibility to pride himself with his town, but, mostly, he was just glad to be around Steve and his self-deprecating humor. It was quite selfish on his part.

After admiring the view, they continued to make their way to Cloudy Lake – well, it was actually Lake Morris but everyone called it Cloudy Lake because even on the best of days, a fine mist floated on its surface, encouraging the legends that were floating around the parts about it.

“What kind of legends?” Steve asked as he glanced curiously at some mushrooms. Bucky caught glimpse of them and huffed.

“Leave those alone, they're poisonous.” He waved dismissively then adjusted his backpack. “You know, the kind of legends that everyone has around this kind of places where no one has better things to do than come up with stories about certain places to make everything more interesting.”

“Stories in which you don't believe.”

“In which I don't believe.” Bucky scratched at his stubbled cheek. “But for which I have a healthy dose of respect.”

“So what kind of legends?”

“Well, they're mostly related to the Miller place,” Bucky said as they approached a wide curb with floppy branches above it like a wooden and leafy arch.

“The Miller place?”

“The Miller place,” Bucky repeated as they turned the corner only to stare at a beautiful and sturdy house that had been built in the vicinity of the lake. The house made an awe-inspiring sight, the vicinity of Lake Morris making it look as if it traveled through time. Steve stopped in wonder as he took in the house and Bucky couldn't blame him because it was quite an impressive sight.

The house had been built, using various architectural elements, but most of them reminded of the look of a Victorian house. It was an imposing construction that had fascinated the inhabitants of Waterfalls for as long as it had been standing on the shore of Cloudy Lake. The amazing one-floor building had a huge wooden balcony, but the huge windows showing up the lake had been blocked with planks of wood. The building had been preserved fairly well, in spite of the bad weather they had around these parts and the fact that it hadn't been lived in for the past several decades.

The large porch still held two wobbly rocking chairs that always gave Bucky the creeps but for some reason, Steve seemed utterly taken by the house as he approached it and climbed the wooden stairs, ignoring their ominous groan. The porch was large and under the wonderful noon sun, it looked almost welcoming if it weren't for the abandoned furniture, all the dry leaves, and the musty smell of rotten wood.

“It's been on sale for ages,” Bucky commented and looked back at the lake. “No one wants to buy it.”

“The legends?”

“Yeah, the legends.” Bucky took the bag off and set it on the rail of the porch, looking at the quiet surface of the lake spreading in front of them shamelessly as if preening. “This Miller guy owned one of the most profitable logging companies and the timber factory that is closed now. Anyway, apparently, he fell in love with someone, though no one could ever say who that person was, and he built this place for them to meet.”

“Oh, a secret love affair. Was he married? Was that the reason why people were upset?”

“Nah, in fact, people couldn't care much about his eccentricities at the time as he was providing work for half a town and money and gossip for the other more well-off half.” Bucky scratched at his stubbled cheek again. “I think it just puzzled people as to why he'd build the house so far off the town limits and in such a short amount of time. It had been an exceptionally dry summer that year. I don't recall the year exactly, but definitely somewhere in between the two world wars.”

“So what happened?” Steve asked as he came to rest beside Bucky and admire the lake, his body a warm and comfortable line against his.

“Apparently, they met here for quite a long time. But then the war came and Miller had to help the country and the war effort.” Bucky stopped for a moment. He took a water bottle out from the backpack and gave it to Steve then took one for himself. He downed half of it. Then he wiped his mouth and added, “Anyway, towards the end of the war, must have been in '44 or '45, he receives a telegram. The guy whitens, comes home, and drowns himself.”

“What?” Steve coughed.

“Yeah, I told you it wasn't pretty.” Bucky shrugged. “It always makes me sad for some reason. Anyway, they fished his body out of the water and they buried him. He didn't leave any note, but I guess his clothes on the shore were a pretty powerful one. One of his nephews came and locked the house, took care of his business, and then left, never to come back. He left Old Griffin in charge of the house. And to his son, Alvin, after him. Three years ago, apparently a cousin or an uncle, someone twice removed from a whose-ever side, put it on sale with quite a good chunk of land but no one has that much money around these parts to buy it. And the house would need extensive re-building and modernization anyway.”

“And the lover?”

“No one ever found out who she was. But they thought it might be Sarah Lieberman, the wife of Miller's best friend. The last anyone heard of her, she had died of septicemia while on a trip to Chicago.”

“Oh wow, that was really sad, Buck.” Steve's eyes clouded again and Bucky couldn't stand the way it set his face tight with an unnamed burden again. Damn, and the day had gone so well until he had to fucking open his mouth.

“Come on, pal. Let's have some lunch and enjoy Becca's hot cocoa.” Bucky patted him on the back and pulled away. They sat on a bench at the bottom of the slight slope that showed a wonderful view of the lake and pulled out the food and the blue thermos bottle. In front of them, a crumbling jetty still tried to fight against the water effects but it was clearly losing, the sweet scent of rotting wood almost overwhelming at times.

“Thank you for bringing me here, Bucky,” Steve said as they ate their turkey sandwiches, his shoulders slightly less tense.

“Sure, Steve.” Bucky looked at the beautiful landscape that surrounded them. He took a shuddery breath as subtly as he could and asked in a softer tone, “Is there anything else I could do for you, Steve?” He could feel Steve's sudden sharp gaze but Bucky didn't dare to look at him. “You look tired and honestly, Waterfalls isn't the type of town one visits during autumn. Apart from the Wood Carver's Festival, not much happens around these parts.” Bucky took another bite from his sandwich and chewed carefully. “I've been told I'm a good listener.”

“I'm fine, Bucky.” The answer sounded so rehearsed and fake that Bucky snorted, thus choking on a bit of his bite. Steve patted him on his back several times before Bucky could finally breathe again. He put the sandwich aside and drank the rest of the water from his bottle.

“Fuck, you were going to kill me with that fake-ass answer,” Bucky hissed as his windpipe and nose still stung like hell. Steve had the decency to blush and look away. “Sorry, Steve. I'm sorry,” Bucky said quickly, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood because h really was a moron. “I don't know why I think I'm entitled to share intimacies with Captain America himself. I just –”

“How about with Steve Rogers?”

“Huh?”

“How about sharing intimacies with Steve Rogers?” Steve stared back at Bucky and his blue eyes were fiery liquid. Bucky was completely mesmerized by his sharp change in attitude – Steve suddenly looked like a puppet whose strings had been abruptly cut off. His shoulders hunched as if trying to make himself smaller. It was as if he decided that Bucky was worthy of seeing just how much tiredness and worry he'd been carrying around and it kind of broke Bucky's heart.

“It'd be an honor,” he heard himself saying.

“Then, I'm not doing so good, Buck.” Steve bit his lip and looked away again, each word laden by the terrible reality of them.

It took Bucky several moments to realize that Steve was actually ashamed of admitting that he was basically human. Bile, acidic and bitter, rose at the back of Bucky's throat. Something terrible coiled inside his belly as if he was already promising retribution to those that hurt Steve.

“I'm sorry to hear that, Steve,” Bucky said gently, a wave of protectiveness washing over him. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“No, but thank you.”

“If there's anything – anything at all – you'll let me know?”

“Yeah, I will.”

Bucky didn't push him. They had literally met several hours ago and he didn't think that Captain Rogers confided easily in people. As they began eating their delicious sandwiches again, Bucky couldn't help but wonder where the hell the rest of the Avengers were and why they hadn't been there for Cap. It was almost laughable that out of the entire population of this earth, Steve Rogers had chosen Bucky Barnes to be his friend – Bucky smothered any desire of hugging the big guy (it wasn't the right moment for it) and promised to himself that he'd be a good friend to Steve.

Because apparently, he needed one more than ever.

~*~*~

“Thank you for this walk. It's been great,” Steve said and his full lips curled into a beautiful smile that bled into his eyes as well. Bucky winked at him.

“Sure thing, pal. I owed you a meal, anyway. Might as well make it a picnic.”

“Technically, this was Becca's meal.”

“Hey, but who carried it, I want to know? I didn't hear any offer to take it from my back.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry. Did I hurt your sensibilities as a host?”

“My very delicate sensibilities.” Bucky stepped carefully as the littered leaves were quite dangerous on this portion of the road. The soil around this area loved to hoard the rain away and in spite of the sun they've been given today, the moist soil was more than treacherous.

“I'll have you know that –” The rest of the sentence was cut off abruptly by a thud. Bucky turned alarmed just in time to see Steve slipping on a patch of wet leaves and falling gracelessly to the wet floor of the forest. The laughter burst out without his permission and he couldn't stop himself as he guffawed, tears streaming down on his cheeks. Steve remained down, still confused like a puppy dog that did something but couldn't tell exactly what.

“Oh my God, this is the funniest shit I've seen in a while,” Bucky managed to mumble at last as he made his way back to Steve. “In fact, this is the best thing that's ever happened to me.” He extended his hand and helped Steve stand up, his hands and bottom covered in mud and leaves. Bucky scrunched his nose at his own dirty hand but he still chuckled like a lunatic.

“I'm glad I amuse you, Buck.” Steve scowled at him but not even his put-upon frown could make Bucky stop laughing.

“No one's ever going to believe me.”

“And I for one am glad.” Steve looked down at his ruined jeans, the coat splattered with mud as well on the back of it. “I think I might have to ask your sister for her washing machine services. I think I ruined Bear's coat.”

“She'll be happy to. And don't worry about the coat – it just needs a good washing as well.”

Bucky stepped carefully sideways and pulled the backpack off his shoulders carefully so he could grab some wet wipes that Becca had the inspiration to shove in the side-pocket. He quickly wiped his own hand so he'd be able to help Steve.

“I can't believe that you managed to slip like that,” Bucky said chuckling as he pulled out more wipes. He approached Steve again, still slightly wheezing, and wiped with the back of his sleeve at his eyes. He gently took one of Steve's hands and carefully wiped it, failing to ignore the warmth and the callousness of the skin.

“Hey, Buck?”

“Hmm?”

Bucky looked up and froze as Steve cupped his cheek with his dirty hand and smudged a nice print of his thumb on Bucky's cheekbone. His hand was warm and strong, anchoring Bucky, whose knees turned a little weak, he wasn't going to lie. He stared back into Steve's eyes and licked slightly his lips, unable to breathe. Almost imperceptibly, Steve's eyes traced Bucky's tongue over his lips.

Pure want suddenly pulsed through Bucky's body like a jolt of electricity and it took everything in him to stop staring back. Steve must have done this involuntarily – it was all normal. It was all good. _Nothing to see here, folks_ kind of a moment.

“You're a little shit.” Bucky's voice sounded hoarse. He cleared his voice and took a step back. Steve pulled his hand away as if awakened suddenly from a dream. Like it burnt.

“Be glad I didn't pull you down with me,” Steve tossed back but he was looking at his hand still in Bucky's hands as the entire situation was beyond his comprehension at this point.

“Be glad I didn't leave you here.”

“Oh, is this how it's gonna be?”

“Yeah.”

Bucky pulled Steve's hand and continued to clean it, all the while, the muddy imprint on his cheek pulsed searing and possessive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, my thanks go to [lambchop33](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lambchop33/pseuds/lambchop33) who was kind and quick to help with the beta. The remaining mistakes are mine and mine alone.
> 
> And if you made it this far, thank you for reading. :)


	3. In which ghosts are mentioned a lot

 

"You wanna do what?" Bucky asked uncomprehendingly as he tried to rub the sleep off his face.

"I want to buy the Miller place," Steve repeated and fuck him, he shouldn't be this cheerful at goddamn ten in the morning.

"I thought you said that." Bucky opened the door wider and let Steve come in. Bucky moved to the kitchen and turned to the coffee maker. He felt like he'd been working for ages with no reprieve. In between the mountain of paperwork that he had to sort out for the station, there were the patrols, and even a goddamn raid at one of the logging companies because they were always pushing the note towards the end of the season. At least, the logging season was finally over and part of the seasonal workers moved to greener pastures, otherwise, Bucky would have gone insane.

He had managed to squeeze a lunch or a dinner here and there with Steve, but for the most part, they hadn't seen each other in the two weeks. This was Bucky's first day off in two weeks anyway and he planned to take full advantage of it. Well, that had been the initial plan anyway. As he prepared everything for the coffee making, Bucky tried to ignore the other man in the kitchen – it's been incredibly difficult to stop thinking about Steve's lips. About their inconsequential moment in the forest. The muddy handprint had been like an invisible marking of a sort and it had burnt for days after it had been washed like a goddamn phantom pain. Maybe it was the way it made his heart tremble inside his chest or the way it made him think of Steve naked and warm in his bed, but basically, Bucky didn't mention anything to anyone about anything.

He rubbed at his face and sucked in a shuddery breath as he finally pressed the button of the coffee maker. By then, Steve had already taken a seat at the table, dwarfing his goddamn kitchen again. Annoyingly enough, he appeared to patiently wait for Bucky to finish his communion with the coffee maker so they could talk.

Realizing that there was no way of avoiding this conversation, Bucky turned and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms and staring Steve down. For a nice change, Cap was dressed in a tight green t-shirt and a warm-looking hoodie – he seriously needed to have a word with the person that encouraged Steve to buy such tight clothes – and a nice pair of black jeans. The local look, so to speak, was completed by Bear's boots, which Steve still liked to wear, and his unshaven jaw. In fact, Steve was seemingly keen on adopting the look of a forest ranger, not that Bucky minded.

"You want to buy the Miller place,” Bucky said after a while when it was clear Steve wasn't going to add anything else. “If you have so much money to waste, pal, then, by all means, give it to me."

"Bucky, it wouldn't be a waste of money."

"It would be, once you realize how much work and investment that house needs. As far as I can remember, from what Alvin says, no one lived in it after Miller's death. Which you know, means the _forties_.”

"Look, Buck, I made up my mind. I want to buy that house and I want to live in it." The stubborn jut of Steve's chin pissed off Bucky.

"What about when you have to save the world again?" The question came out a little harshly than he intended. Consequently, Bucky bit the inside of his cheek, effectively stopping any other word to come out.

"I've got a friend that can teleport me there." Steve shrugged, hands splayed on the table and lips curled down. "They can send the Quinjet for me. Tony will be more than happy to help me plan the construction of the landing place."

"You thought of everything. But why this place? Why here and why now?"

"I like it here, people seem friendly and it's far enough from civilization that even if someone came after me, I'd be isolated enough to avoid any civilian victims."

"Jesus, and here I thought that your biggest worry when you move is whether you could afford it in the first place." Bucky turned around again and grabbed two mugs from the cupboard, pouring coffee into both of them. Then he took a seat across from Steve and pushed the coffee mug in front of him, drinking from his own with much gusto.

"Steve, that place is a ruin. It's good for legends and the occasional walk to it, nothing more. Plus, there's the problem of its accessibility. You would need to clean the current forest road and definitely order some gravel for it. Do you even know how much it costs to pave a two-lane road? Even if you respect the current width of the existent forest road, it would still cost you at the minimum, a hundred and twenty thousand dollars. And that's just from the top of my head. Not to mention the house, which needs to be refurbished entirely.” Bucky ran his fingers through his hair and pulled hard like he wanted to wake up. “In good conscience, I can't let you buy that place. I honestly don't know what to say to make you change your mind about this."

"There's nothing you can say to make me change my mind." Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “I did think about this, Buck. This isn't a spur of the moment decision. I spoke to a friend and explained the situation. I already have an estimate about how much it would cost and what I'd be required to do. So, I'd buy the house and whatever land comes with it but wait till spring to start rebuilding. As for the road, hopefully, I can do something about that before the winter sets in around these parts and maybe pave it next year when spring comes.”

Steve stared down at his mug of coffee and pressed his fingers into the frail material, his shoulders slightly hunched. It hit Bucky again how difficult it was to associate any sense of vulnerability with Steve Rogers because he kept thinking that the man was Captain America and thus impermeable to all of this human shit. But Steve was as human as they came and Bucky should better learn the difference or he wasn't going to be a good friend to him.

"Unless you don't want me moving here,” Steve spoke hesitantly, looking down at his hands. “Or you think that the people of Waterfalls might have something against it.”

"Jesus, Steve, of course not! That's definitely not the case!" Bucky swallowed hard through his suddenly tensed throat. He bit his bottom lip and gently covered one of Steve's hand, making the other man to glance up at him. "I'm sorry if I made you think that. By all means, I'd be more than happy for you to chose Waterfalls as your home. And the people around here, well, they'd be more than honored to have you move here."

"Thank you, Buck." Steve's thumb caressed the arch of Bucky's hand with the hesitance of a man that didn't know whether his gesture was welcomed or not. They let the silence surround them comfortably and friendly like a nice and worn out blanket. It reminded Bucky of that day in the forest when Steve's hand burnt like fire on his cheek but also grounded him in a way he never felt before. Damn, if only he could belong to this man. Just for one moment, like he did that day.

 _That_ was a ridiculous thought and Bucky should stop thinking like this.

"Fine, I'll accompany you to see Alvin. He's gonna shit his pants." Bucky grabbed the mug with his other hand and gulped from it, not letting go of Cap's hand. "Though I still feel like I should call one of your Avengers buddies and tell them to set you straight."

"It's a lost battle, pal. Might as well give up."

"I swear to God all those news reels should have mentioned something about your stubbornness."

"You're a good friend, Buck." Steve smiled carefully and finally pulled his hand away, making Bucky feel bereft and proud all at once. To hide his blush, Bucky picked up his mug and drank some more coffee.

“Okay,” he said once his mug was empty, “I really need a shower first and some clothes. Then we'll eat Becca's wonderful food and go see Alvin. I bet he'll love this” He stood up and washed his mug quickly when he noticed that Steve was still halfway through his. “You do realize that technically, you're buying a ghost house, right?”

“I'm kind of a ghost anyway.”

The words dropped like poison into a well. Instantly, Bucky felt his hackles rise, a cold sweat breaking down his back. “What did you just say?” he asked, throat suddenly tight to the point that he could barely swallow.

“Come one, Bucky! It was a joke.” Steve ducked his head like it was funny. But it wasn't. _It hadn't been._ The words had reeked of such a strong conviction in their truth that they made Bucky sick to his stomach. As if it was so goddamn funny that Captain America, Steve fucking Rogers himself, just stood there nice as they come, in Bucky's own goddamn kitchen no less, and said that he felt more of a ghost these days.

“No, it fucking wasn't!” he hissed. Two steps. That's all it took: two fucking steps (his kitchen was _that_ small) to kneel in front of Steve and cup his cheeks, forcing him to look at him with all the gentleness that Bucky felt capable of. “You're not a fucking ghost, Steve!”

“Oh, what the fuck do you know?” Steve batted Bucky's hands away and stood up so abruptly that the chair crashed to the floor. It took him just a few steps to be out on the front door and slam it shut after him. Bucky froze there on his cold kitchen floor, wondering what the hell just happened. He leaned on his haunches and ran his fingers through his hair, pulling hard. Whatever the fuck happened in his kitchen, it must have been his fault. But to hear Steve talking like that about himself hurt Bucky in a way he hadn't expected.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He wished he'd never shown Steve the goddamn Miller place. He stood up and watched Steve's half-empty mug uncomprehendingly, heart unexpectedly heavy. But the sinking feeling wouldn't go away. As he blinked blandly at that half-empty mug, a sort of an abject horror clenched tight at Bucky's chest – the idea that Steve considered himself a ghost since he had been thawed was excruciating. And it shouldn't have been since technically Bucky had just met the guy.

His front door opened quietly again and shut with a sort of finality that was reserved more to goodbyes rather than returning. Bucky didn't dare to turn back as he could hear Steve suck in a shuddery breath. The silence trickled by between the two of them.

“I'm a ghost, Buck.” Steve's empty voice tore Bucky apart. He swung around to look at Steve, who was flushed with embarrassment and anger. His eyes were blazing (unlike any ghost's, but who was Bucky to judge?). “So I find the Miller place suitable for me. I like the view and house though.”

“No, you're not,” Bucky denied stubbornly, because if Steve Rogers thought that he could sit in Bucky's goddamn kitchen and talk like that about himself, then he had another thing coming.

“What do you know?” He echoed the question that had turned the tide around.

“Apparently, I know more than you're giving me credit for.” Anger ratcheted up a notch inside of Bucky. It did so in a slow but steadfast way. He felt it surge through his veins like wildfire because he was so goddamn tired of seeing that empty look on Steve, those wide shoulders slumped and that air of loneliness that clung to him like a goddamn bad smell.

“Bucky, I was buried for seventy years. I should have never been dug out.” Steve put his hands on his waist and watched Bucky with the saddest eyes. “I was brought back when nothing and no one was left to remember me. _Me_. Steve Grant Rogers, the kid from Brooklyn. Not even Peggy –” His voice broke and Steve looked down, avoiding Bucky's eyes. He cleared his throat and carried on, “Not even Peggy remembered me.”

“Steve.”

“This wasn't supposed to be my life, you know? I was gonna help my country with the war effort, and I was gonna win the war. I was supposed to marry Peggy and have a couple of kids. Retire and then see the world. Die.” Steve looked back at Bucky. His face utterly crumpled into unhappiness, raw and broken. “Here I am – seventy-six years later – a ghost.”

“But I see you, Steve,” Bucky said and slowly approached him. He cupped his cheeks and watched him with as much tenderness as he was allowed to, having not been privy to Steve's intimacies before. “Becca does too. Dernier, Dum Dum, Gabe, hell, everyone does. We all see you. Besides, people around here aren't afraid of ghosts. We've been living with them throughout our whole lives.”

“You too, Buck?”

“Pal, you're not even the most interesting ghost these days. I still want to know who was Miller's goddamn lover. I need proof that it was that Lieberman lady, goddamn it!” Steve chuckled but it was sort of hollow and Bucky hated the sound of it so he did what he was supposed to do from the very first time he met Steve Rogers. He hugged the hell out of him.

Their bodies melted together – Steve had just a few inches over Bucky – as they held each other tight. Steve buried his head in Bucky's shoulder and held on. Bucky grabbed fistfuls of Steve's hoodie and held just as hard. At this point, he didn't know who needed the hug more, him or Steve. A sense of belonging to each other's arms was spreading dangerously through Bucky's mind and he tried to fight against because he did enjoy this hug, even if it was strictly platonic. Not that he would ever dare to think that Steve would be inclined to check men out. Bucky in particular.

When Steve pulled out a little, but not letting go, Bucky tried to act cool by literally staring at a point over Steve's right shoulder and biting his lip. Yeah, he was _that_ smooth.

“I really need to take a shower,” Bucky mumbled after a while, though he was perfectly comfortable and would have stayed in Steve's embrace forever. But well, Bucky had never met a moment he couldn't ruin with his big mouth. “I think I stink,” he added for good measure to prove to everyone that he was a goddamn idiot after all.

Steve leaned forward again and pressed his nose behind Bucky's ear. Immediately, Bucky's knees turned weak. Lust, sharp and hot, shot through his entire body as Steve took a deep breath. Luckily, the guy was still holding him in his arms, otherwise, Bucky would have had to sit down immediately.

“You smell fine to me, Buck,” Steve said and smirked like the little shit that he was. Bucky gritted his teeth in a poor attempt at not releasing a shuddery sigh like a goddamn moron.

“You're a jerk,” he replied shakily at last and let Steve go, ignoring the way he suddenly felt cold. “Just for that, you owe me lunch.”

“And you're a punk if you think it's going to be that easy to make me buy you lunch.”

“Shut up. I'm going to take a shower now and change.” Bucky waved his hand dismissively. “Go and have a chat with Becca or something. Make yourself pretty.”

“I'm always pretty.”

“I will end you.” Bucky scowled for good measure.

“Yeah, yeah.” Steve opened the main door again. “Hurry up, princess! We don't have all day.”

“Kiss my princess ass!” Bucky yelled after him.

“Find a tiara first and I will!” Steve singsonged, making Bucky choke on his own saliva and going bright red. Steve just chuckled like an asshole and closed the door.

Bucky marched annoyed to the bathroom. It was going to be a long day.

~*~*~

When Bucky and Steve talked with Alvin Griffin about the Miller place, well, let's just say that Bucky had been afraid that he might need to call an ambulance. The poor old man had to sit down and blink several times at Bucky and Steve as if he wasn't sure whether they were joking or not. Which of course led to the second part in which he had to be convinced that no, they weren't joking; yes, Steve wanted to and had the means to buy the place. Which, in turn, made Alvin shed a tear or two and pull out a bottle of whiskey.

“I never thought I was going to sell the place in my lifetime.” Alvin poured whiskey into three glasses and encouraged them to pick them up and drink them. “But I can't let it happen in good conscience without mentioning a thing to you, Captain Rogers.”

“Please, call me Steve.”

“I wouldn't even if I could.” Alvin took another sip of whiskey and leaned back against his chair, watching the coppery liquid in his glass. “I believe that young James here might have mentioned already but I'll say it anyway.” His green eyes focused on both of them above the rim of his glasses. “Around these parts, we believe that this place is haunted, Captain.”

“Yes, Bucky mentioned that already.”

“He's a good young man like that.” Alvin finished the whiskey and looked out the window, the gloom of the rainy day spilling around them. “Look, it's not like the place has a bad aura or something. Old Gerald Miller built that house out of love. I'm sure he spent a lot of happy and memorable times there. However, he did commit suicide and we believe that he's still waiting for his lover, whoever she was.” He poured another glass of whiskey, which he savored again. “I know how it sounds but around these parts, we also have a healthy respect for the long-departed. So, you know what you're getting yourself into.”

“I understand the situation, sir, but I think you have nothing to worry about,” Steve answered politely, though his eyes slightly narrowed, a sure sign that by now, he had had enough of people trying to make him change his mind.

“You know, son, something tells me that you will.” Alvin smiled like an old coot that knew too much of this world and he couldn't be bothered with it anymore. “So, should I present you a little bit of the property?”

Two hours later, they all had drunk at least three shots of whiskey, but they had also checked the plans of the house and the land surrounding it. How much the owners were actually asking for it – which was a lot less that Bucky had expected – and what they demanded as payment for the surrounding land – which was a bit more than it should have been.

But all in all, Alvin promised that the contract would be ready for approval as soon as he could. Just like Bucky though, he was honest and pointed out to several issues that the house had, including its accessibility. Steve spoke calmly, asked all the right questions, and reassured Alvin that he'd be going ahead with the buying plans.

In fact, everything moved so fast that by the end of October, the sale of the house had been a done deal, with both sides checking the contract at least twice. Bucky had been surprised by how quick Tony Stark's lawyer had been able to look at the paperwork that Steve sent – _I don't speak legalese, Buck, and all this is mostly nonsense to me –_ and return a revised contract the following day, making Alvin and that old coot MacArthur, his partner at the real estate office, to scratch their heads and whistle in admiration.

And Bucky? Well, he was just the first one to see how much Steve's eyes brightened when he signed the contract for purchasing the house and received a copy together with the keys to it. The remaining Miller family had wanted nothing from inside the house and had been more than happy to let someone else worry about it. Bucky had the vague feeling that he'd spend quite a few days going to that place, sort out through things and help Steve decide what to keep and what to throw away.

And if the thought of having Steve move into that place, alone and isolated, made Bucky's heart heavy and full of sorrow, he kept his opinions to himself. It was enough that he was attracted to the guy. He really didn't need to develop feelings. Ugh.

It was easier said than done.

~*~*~

Halloween caught Bucky on duty. Though it had been a slow day, everyone in the station knew that things were getting worse only towards the end of the shift – people in Waterfalls took Halloween seriously and that included consuming large amounts of alcohol at different parties throughout the town.

Ever since he was little, Bucky had never understood what was with the inhabitants of Waterfalls and their obsession of finding the perfect costume for Halloween. But while in the previous years, he'd been more than happy to play along – he really thought that he made a pretty damn good Black Widow – this year he really wanted to use his shift as the perfect excuse to miss the party at Dum Dum's dive. It wasn't just the fact that everyone was going to mention his past adventures and Steve would be present to listen to them all, in his whole blond and beefy glory. It was also because he had made the mistake of forgetting what costume he had chosen for this year and by the time he had realized his mistake, it had been too late to change it.

So he absolutely refused to show up at Dum Dum's wearing a goddamn Captain America costume, fully equipped with a shield as well, when Captain America himself was going to join their party. As if reading his thoughts, his sister called him on his cell.

“What?” he answered grumpily as he paid attention to the road.

“Wow, please, do sound more like an asshole, I dare you!” Becca's voice resounded in the entire car, reproachful and half-way drunk. She had outsmarted him this year and she was dressed like Wonder Woman, lasso and shield in place, wavy brown hair perfectly coiffed. Bucky had actually envied her with how good she looked dressed up like that and he was man enough to admit that this year, she'd win the contest that they had each year for best costume.

“Sorry,” he apologized half-heartedly and wiped at his mouth with one hand. “I'm tired. What's up?”

“Are you still on duty?”

“Yeah, another half an hour and I'm done.”

“Okay, we're waiting for you.”

“No, Beccs, come on. I'm not going.”

“What? Why not?”

“You know what my costume is. I don't –”

“Please, don't be a moron!” Becca hissed and she seemed to move a little further away from the noise. “You're making it weirder than it should be. Just come. Everyone will ask where you've been and being on duty for most of the day won't fly with them, Bucky, you know that. Last year, it didn't stop you from partying until four in the goddamn morning.”

“I know, but Becca, you know what my costume is. What if Steve gets upset?”

“Firstly, Steve Rogers has a goddamn sense of humor and he'll appreciate the irony of the entire situation. Secondly, with how much time you two spend together, I thought you might have become friends by now. If not boyfriends.” Bucky spluttered indignantly, but his sister didn't even bother stopping now that she was on a roll. “And finally, I'm surrounded by idiots, who think they're going to win with some hand-made costume of SpongeBob. I'm not letting the crown go so that SpongeBob can score tonight. No way in hell!”

“You do realize that you're way too competitive for your own good.”

“Oh please, look who's talking, Mr. Black Window himself.” Bucky could almost hear his sister's eye-roll. “You won last year because you had the guts to go into that tight leotard. It's not happening this year, dipshit. _So_. It's almost nine o'clock. If by eleven o'clock at the latest, you're not at the _Howling Commandos_ , I'll consider that you forfeited and the crown will be mine.”

“No way!”

“Yes way!” Becca chuckled at the other end of the line. “Besides, you haven't seen Steve's costume. It's to die for.”

“What is he dressed as?”

“Like I'm going to be a moron and say it. If you want to see him, be here. Costume included. Pull yourself together, like the great professor McGonagall would say, and move your lazy ass here.”

“She'd never say lazy ass.”

“Semantics,” she huffed and mumbled something at another person. “Come on, Buck,” she whined. “Forget about your costume or Steve. It's our tradition. The boys would be very upset if you miss out this year.”

“Wow, emotional blackmail! I was wondering when you'd resort to that.”

“Shut up and say you'll come, dipshit!”

“Fine, I will.”

“With costume!”

“With costume,” Bucky said defeated. “I'm not going to let Spongebob SquarePants win the goddamn contest.”

“Yay!”

“Becca, my ear!”

“Oh shush!” He could almost see her bright smile, one dimple always present in her right cheek. “I'll see you later then.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She abruptly hung up on him. Bucky swallowed hard. He had the feeling that this was going to end badly.

~*~*~

One hour later, he was standing in front of the _Howling Commandos_ like a goddamn coward, unable to get out of his goddamn car. He had never been so nervous about a costume like he was at the moment. He had changed into the Captain America costume at the station – it was the vintage version from the forties with the red boots included. He had managed to style his hair back and he actually looked nice. Or that's what he thought until Carla saw him and laughed for a full ten minutes, tears streaming down the cheeks and left the station still chuckling as she had been in on the most amusing joke of the century.

Of course, it didn't help with Bucky's nerves to remember this as he continued to sit in his car like the loser that he was. He ran his fingers through his hair, forgetting about the styling. Initially, when they started this whole tradition of getting dressed up and spend time together at Dum Dum's bar, Bucky wasn't sure it was going to last. But year after year, Dum Dum would close the bar for the public and it would be just them and other friends having a friendly costume contest. The winner would take home one hundred dollars and a bottle of the finest whiskey the establishment was selling, which wasn't much to be fair.

Also, again with the fairness, the contest had indeed been friendly until the Barnes siblings decided to get really involved and then all hell broke loose. The only time Bucky brought Dale at one of these parties, he hadn't enjoyed much the proceedings as his ex-boyfriend wasn't a fan of the holiday. The fact that he didn't dress up and made some snide remarks had only hardened Bucky's conviction that they should break up soon.

He sighed and pulled out of the car. It was stupid to sit there and reminiscence of a guy that didn't even bother to make an effort. On top of that, if Steve didn't like the whole thing, then he could shove his opinion where the sun didn't shine. With new found courage, he grabbed the shield and locked the door of the car as he made his way towards the bar. Some of their friends were outside, smoking or chatting amongst themselves, and they received Bucky with cheers and laughter. He spent some time chatting with them, biting his lips and pretending he didn't dread to go inside.

But in the end, there was only so much time he could stall so he made his way inside the bar, trying to be as inconspicuous as he could.

And miserably failed.

“Ladies and gentleman and nonbinary people,” Falsworth's voice boomed on the small microphone around the small bar, “please welcome our two-times champion, Bucky Barnes.” The room exploded in a cacophony of cheers and clapping as Bucky scowled at James Falsworth, Monty for friends and family, their ceremony guy each year, and made his way towards the center of the room as the tradition requested. “He is dressed as Captain America this year – a brave but somewhat uninspired choice.” Bucky flipped Monty off and the room erupted again into laughter. “Nonetheless, he's got the swagger and the cheekiness. But can he pull it off? All of you will get to decide tonight, so please don't forget to cast your ballots by midnight.”

An upbeat song covered the following round of applause and Bucky made his way to the bar straight away, trying to buy some liquid courage. Most of the people were spread out throughout the room, but the bar was still quite crowded so it took Bucky a full ten minutes to even approach the goddamn wooden counter to ask Dinah, one of the part-time employees, for a beer. Dinah nodded and opened a bottle for him straight away. He gulped half of the bottle in one go before he even dared to check the room and see whether he could spot Becca or Steve. There were quite a few pairs on the improvised dance floor but no one familiar.

As he focused in on trying to find his sister or someone familiar, a man pressed against him, his body a hard and hotline against Bucky's.

“You make a fine Captain America, Buck,” Steve said into his ear as soft as he could in defiance to the deafening noise in the room, his lips brushing against the shell of his ear. Bucky shivered in response and blushed heavily as he looked aside and positively felt his jaw touching the floor and his heart stopping in his chest. Although it was technically anatomically impossible, there was no other way of describing just how much Bucky was enjoying the view.

Because Steve fucking Rogers? Had come dressed up as a police officer, handcuffs and aviators complementing perfectly his look. He was positively gorgeous because the uniform didn't hide anything – the perfect shoulders/ waist ratio, his thick and strong thighs, his bulging arms. May all the saints and angels in heaven forgive Bucky because he was positively drooling. He kept on swallowing repeatedly and tried to open his mouth a few times, but his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth and so he failed to say anything.

He wasn't ashamed to admit it: Bucky would have climbed Steve Rogers like a goddamn tree.

“Oh, you fucking bastard!” Bucky managed at last to remember some words in English. “You're trying to steal my crown.”

“What can I say, Buck?” Steve grinned filthily and fuck, Bucky lived for this. “I think I might stand a chance or two.”

“You make a fine cop, Steve. Goddamn you!” Bucky saluted him with the bottle of the beer and drank whatever was left from it, signaling Dinah that he wanted another. “Who helped you out?” Bucky stared back at Steve, who was nursing now another fresh beer as well.

“Your sister, mainly. Dernier too.”

“Wow, back-stabbed by my own goddamn family!” Bucky took another sip from his beer. “You look good, Steve.” He winked, trying to play it cool. Maybe not blurt out _I'd let you arrest me every day of the week and twice on Sundays_.

“You look good too, Bucky.” Steve gave him a heart-stopping smile and Bucky might have melted. He didn't know whether it was the proximity of their bodies or the fact that Steve looked relaxed and comfortable, but the entire night already reeked of new possibilities.

“You don't mind?”

“No, I really don't.” Steve leaned forward and his lips almost touched Bucky. “Though you forgot about the cowl.”

“I thought it might be too hot for it,” he croaked like a goddamn ten-year-old faced for the first time with his crush.

“There you are, _mon ami_!” Dernier wrapped his arms around the both of them and grinned like a lunatic. “I'm afraid you lost the crown this year, Bucky! The good captain here looks absolutely delicious in his cop suit. Better than you, I might add.”

“Wow, who needs enemies when I've got friends?” Bucky rolled his eyes but still looking at Steve. Then slowly, as if in a dream, he focused on Dernier, who was wearing a ghastly costume. “And what the hell are you supposed to be?”

“Le Fantome de l'Opera.” Dernier dramatically extended his arms, slapping other people in the process. “Oops, sorry about that, friends.” He grinned sheepishly back at Steve and Bucky.

“Where's your face mask then?” Bucky asked.

“I lost it.” Dernier shook his head. “But never mind that. Come on, let's get to our table.”

“Oh, we have a table now?”

“Shut up, sour loser!”

“I'm not a sour loser! And besides, you don't know yet if I lost,” Bucky spluttered as he grabbed his beer and followed Dernier through the sea of people.

“Oh, please. _Mon ami_ , don't embarrass yourself. The good captain tonight has it all: looks, charisma and that bit of charm that you'll always lack.”

“Seriously, are you trying to kill my self-esteem tonight?” Bucky asked incredulously but both Steve and Jacques just laughed at him.

“This is revenge for all your gloating throughout the last couple of years.”

They were received with cheers and greetings for Bucky as they made a little room for them. Bucky and Steve crowded against each other on the narrow chairs that were left for them. Their thighs touched, hard and searing, and Bucky had to drink some more beer just so he could face the prospect of being in Steve's personal space throughout the whole night. Not that the good old cap seemed to mind in the least if Bucky was to judge by the looks he kept sending his way. On the other hand, it might as well be wishful thinking on Bucky's part.

Becca was accompanied by Michael Proctor, who worked for the local council and acted as a direct supervisor for the logging companies that worked in the area. He was dressed like Steve Trevor and smiled warmly when he greeted Bucky. Yeah, he'd need to speak with Becca one of these days about it because it seemed like she and Michael were getting really serious. Dum Dum was dressed like a gigantic Albert Einstein and his wife, Joanne, was Joanna D'Arc – and that had been a brilliant idea on her part. Monty was Roland Garros while his girlfriend Tamara was Amelia Earhart – good aviation coordination. And Gabe and his wife Lisa came as James Baldwin and Maya Angelou – in fact, Lisa looked positively gorgeous. Yeah, this year, apparently everyone had taken it really seriously and went all the way with the coordination.

“Are you traitors conspiring to have your grubby hands on the prize this year?” Bucky asked put-upon.

“Well, three years in a row is a bit too much, Bucky,” Lisa said. “The Barnes family needs to make way for the new generation of winners.”

“Whiners, you mean.”

“No personal attacks, _mon ami_.”

“What? You've been attacking since I arrived.” Bucky scowled at his friend, who waved a dismissive hand.

“I think we shouldn't bother too much,” Joanna said and drank from beer. They all looked at the man beside Bucky. He tilted his head and watched Steve blush.

“If only he didn't bring those aviators,” Bucky grumbled to himself but Becca heard him and smirked.

“Yeah, because it's the aviators fault.”

Bucky rolled his eyes but conceded the point. They all joked and laughed throughout the following hour then at midnight Monty and Tamara went to count the votes that had been cast. Bucky bought a new round for all of them and Gabe the next. Steve had loosened up next to him and he had wrapped a possessive arm on Bucky's shoulders, his fingers pressing now and then into the meat of the shoulder. Bucky didn't mind it at all – he simply sank into the indirect embrace and enjoyed the feeling of being anchored. It didn't have to mean anything.

But as they waited for the name of the winner to be announced, Bucky could feel Steve's eyes on him, dark and hot. Bucky finished his third beer and managed to get enough courage to stare back. Something hot and heavy burned immediately through his belly, lust thick like molasses spreading through his veins. He swallowed hard as Steve seemed to trace with his eyes each curve of Bucky's lips. The moment seemed to expand forever.

The spell was broken only when Steve's name was announced as the winner of this year's costume contest, but its effect on Bucky remained long after Steve went to collect his prize.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, my deepest thanks to lambchop33, who's always ready to beta this story. The remaining mistakes are mine and mine alone.
> 
> And if you made it this far, thank you for reading. :)


	4. In which a promise is made and kept... in the end

The early hours of November first caught them drinking coffee on the porch of Becca's house. The night was still thick around them, the few street lamps around the house not strong enough to defeat it. The clouds were almost orange, fat and powerful enough to smother the light of every star that had appeared on the sky tonight. The wind would breeze through the barren trees, a sort of despondent sound announcing its presence. Time seemed to trickle down, a sensation enhanced by the quietness of the street and the fact that they hadn't turned on the light of the porch.

It was the type of night when it was easy to imagine a gathering of witches in the middle of the forest, casting spells and communing with the elements. Bucky's thoughts floated to the Miller's place, the old house standing like a haunting presence on the shore of Cloudy Lake and thought of all the legends that surrounded it. Nights like this made Bucky not question them or at least keep them in respectful regard.

Bucky curled his fingers around the cup of coffee, still hot in his hand, and his lips curled into a languid smile, the veil of darkness a perfect camouflage for it. Steve's body was a hard and warm presence next to him. Bucky bit his lip a little before seemingly pulling closer to him. Michael had dropped them earlier and Becca had made them coffee, all the while mumbling about goddamn idiots and their penchant for strong brews when normal people would just go to sleep. She shook her head in dismay at them as she served them dark and bitter coffee and left to her room, ignoring their snickering, but flipping Bucky off for good measure.

Steve was a comfortable and quiet presence next to him, pensively admiring the shadows of the night splashing all around them like in a dark painting. Every now and then, Steve would push against the railing of the porch and move the swing. The slow swinging was all the more hypnotizing as Bucky was so exhausted, he could barely keep his eyes open. He rubbed his stinging eyes as a cold shiver ran down his spine, goosebumps blooming all over his arms. Even Steve's warm and comfortable presence couldn't keep the cold at bay.

And it wasn't like Bucky wasn't dressed properly. They had pulled on their thick coats when they left Dum Dum's bar, still dressed into their sweaty costumes, pleasantly buzzed and snickering like children at some joke or other.

But on the way home, Steve's jaw gradually recovered its clenched quality, a sort of cruel line that in the darkness of the car had made him remote and impenetrable. Steve's good humor gradually dissipated as if someone had snuffed out a candle. He barely engaged in the cheery conversation as he stared out on the window. Bucky hated the way it made him untouchable and aloof. When they finally reached home and Bucky was able to guess even through Bear's thick coat the terrible tense line of Steve's shoulders, his insides twisted unpleasantly and coolly, chilling him to the bone. His offer of coffee had been met with an eyebrow raised and a wan smile but had been accepted nonetheless.

It didn't ease Bucky's anguish but it made him slightly more content with the current situation. He glanced sideways at the man beside him. Steve was a still presence next to him, his cup barely touched and so remote that for a moment the thought of him alone in that haunted house made Bucky literally sick to his stomach and the bitter taste of the coffee wasn't to blame for the stark taste of bile at the back of his throat. Bucky took another sip of his coffee before he managed to clear his throat a little.

“I'm so tired that even my tiredness is tired,” he mumbled and before he thought better of it, Bucky rested his head on the strong and available shoulder next to him, slipping down the swing a little. He closed his eyes and listened to Steve hum.

"That doesn't make any sense, Buck," Steve's voice rumbled as if from a great distance and he pushed the swing again. Bucky sighed a little and opened his eyes. He stood up and abandoned the cup of coffee on the wooden floor in favor of making himself more comfortable against Steve's shoulder, shoving his hands into his pockets and closing his eyes again.

"Give me a break, pal. I haven't slept in twenty-four hours. I'm entitled to wax poetics about my exhaustion."

"Of course, what was I thinking?" Steve snorted slightly and he was so endearing that Bucky was tempted to change his position enough to run his fingers through Steve's hair and feel its silkiness. Cap's hair was bound to be all silky and soft to touch.

“I'll have you know I always make sense, thank you very much.” Abandoning his thoughts and opinions about the said hair, Bucky scrunched his nose but still didn't open his eyes. His voice was slightly hoarser when he asked, “Did you enjoy yourself tonight?”

"Yes, I did. Thank you for sharing your friends with me. They are amazing."

"They are but please, don't let them know or it might get to their heads and then what would be left of me?” Steve hummed in recognition again but didn't say anything else. Something hot and bitter lugged inside Bucky's belly, cutting away whatever was left of the pleasant buzz. He abruptly opened his eyes and stood up, forgoing the comfortable position. He stared back at Steve who startled for once.

“What's wrong?” Bucky asked. His question echoed harshly around the wall of silence that had crowded them for the past few minutes.

“What do you mean?” Steve looked back at the deserted street in front of the house. During spring and summer, the trees and the flowers that Becca loved to take care of created a natural fence of protection around the house. But autumn pierced through that natural fence with cruel efficiency, leaving just the skeletons of what was once simple green splendor.

“About an hour ago, we were laughing out loud at one of Monty's jokes and now you look like you're about to bolt. What gives?”

“I'm leaving for a mission tomorrow,” Steve said abruptly and stood up. “Or better said, later on, today.” He took a few steps away, keeping his back at Bucky, his strong hands suddenly white-knuckled on the railing. The words shattered Bucky's balance completely. Realistically and reasonably, Bucky had told himself time and time again that Steve was going to go back to missions, no matter how many houses he owned in the area. Because no matter how many flannel shirts he bought, and how many times he wore Bear's coat, one couldn't take the intrinsic reality of Captain America away from Steve Rogers.

“For how long?” Bucky croaked and immediately, he had the fervent desire to bash his head against the railing itself. It was so fucking stupid to have such an emotional reaction to Steve's leaving.

“I don't know. Tony said at least a week, maybe more.”

Tony... Steve meant Tony Stark, billionaire philanthropist and Iron Man, savior of the humankind. Captain America's friend. One of a few other extraordinary friends. Because of course, Steve Rogers had a real life back in New York, an apartment in that fancy tower that they kept calling the Avengers Tower, although, in the beginning, it had been simply Stark Building. Bucky wiped at his face, almost able to hear the grinding of his teeth.

“Are you coming back?”

“Of course, I'm coming back, Buck.” Steve stared back at him, his eyes burning with righteous fury as if Bucky had managed to offend him at his core. “This is my home now.”

“Yeah?” Bucky stood up and came beside Steve. He pressed their shoulders together and watched the autumnal landscape sprawling in front of them. They had shared this closeness throughout the entire night: at the bar, ordering for drinks and murmuring to each other; at the table, pressing against each other like pieces of a puzzle on its way to being completed; in the car, where their knees touched over and over as if in silent support. He allowed himself to be tactile for a few more moments.

“Yes.” It was resounding and firm. Bucky bumped their shoulders together and kept staring straight ahead.

“Is it all right if I say that I don't want you to go?” The question sounded too honest – too _needy_ – so Bucky stumbled quickly to cover his gaffe, “I mean, I know it's your job but – I think I much prefer you arguing with city councilmen rather than invaders or whatever Avengers fight these days.”

“I don't want to leave either but I did promise to Tony I'd go back if he needed me.” Steve looked down to Bucky and a shiver of a different kind spread across Bucky's body, the one or two inches that Cap had on him making him want to climb the man like a goddamn tree. “I'll come back.”

“If you promise...”

“I promise.”

“And you'll send a message – if you can – just to let me know you're okay?”

“I will.”

“You can tell me to fuck off. We're just friends, after all, you don't need to give me a report on everything you do.” Bucky bit his lip but still couldn't look away from Steve, whose blue eyes darkened involuntarily a little at the move, eyes blue as a stormy summer night. Bucky wondered whether Steve was even aware that he was doing it.

“It's good to have someone waiting for me.”

“I won't be waiting for you, punk. I do have my own life, you know?”

“Yeah? Well, in that case maybe you can start taking off the planks that cover the windows on the ground floor, maybe check and see the state of the said windows.” Half a smirk pulled at the corner of Steve's mouth.

“Excuse you, since when do I work as a handyman for you?”

“Since you convinced me to buy the Miller place.”

“ _Convinced_ you? That's a good one! I just showed you the goddamn house. You were the one all over it with _Oh Buck, I'm going to buy that haunted house down by the lake with no human presence for at least three miles_.”

“I don't sound like that but it was a good try.” Steve fully smirked this time. “Since you're still wearing my costume and all.”

“Shut up!” Bucky bumped their shoulders and looked back out before he'd do a crazy thing like kiss Steve or something similar. Maybe on the corner of his full lips, like not a full kiss, so that perhaps Cap wouldn't mind. Maybe. Bucky grabbed the railing a little tighter. “How long have you known that you were required back?”

“Since yesterday morning.” Steve's shoulders now slumped a little. “Later on today, one of my friends will teleport me so that they don't have to send the Quinjet for me.”

“Why didn't you say something sooner?”

“I didn't want to ruin the mood, especially since you and Becca waxed kept on telling me how much you enjoy Halloween.”

“And you brooding in the back of the car was the better alternative?” Bucky glanced at Steve, eyes slightly widened. “If I hadn't invited you for coffee now, would you have told me anything or just left without saying goodbye?”

“Jesus, Buck, I would have said something in the morning.” Steve fully turned to him and ran his fingers through his hair in slight exasperation. “I'm not that cold hearted – I would have mentioned it.”

“How nice of you!” Bucky sneered as he faced Steve. “Telling me maybe five minutes before leaving.”

“Why are you so upset?”

“I don't know,” Bucky snapped back but he still couldn't step away from Steve, something hot and bitter, tasting a lot like shame, crawling inside his belly. It was irrational but Steve's leaving affected him in a way that he didn't want to think too in depth or he might not like the answers that he'd get back.

Squaring his shoulders, Steve suddenly cupped Bucky's cheeks, his thumbs drawing half-circles on his cheekbones, a wobbly smile blooming at the corner of his lips. Bucky's hands trembled as he grabbed the strong wrists, not in an attempt to dislodge them but rather to keep himself anchored. Steve took a step closer until their bodies almost touched. The air between them suddenly crackled with electricity and Bucky sucked in a shuddery breath before gathering enough courage to stare back into Steve' dark eyes.

“I'm coming back, Bucky,” Steve said and it sounded so profoundly certain that Bucky shuddered again in acquiescence. “I promise.” He pulled Bucky even closer know, his big hands gentle and kind, and leaned his forehead against Bucky's.

Bucky was suddenly filled with the undeniable certainty that Steve Rogers was about to kiss him. God, Bucky could almost taste him, a sudden jolt of desire sharply piercing the last remnants of reason.

But he couldn't. _He couldn't._ Because –

“Please, don't kiss me.” Bucky's fingers convulsed against Steve's wrists. Cap looked sharply down at him. “I don't want to be anyone's experiment.” There was a moment of absolute silence, in which they stared at each other. Then Steve flinched and backed down, leaving Bucky's hands to fall despondently besides his body. The implacable jut of Steve's chin showed up again as he turned his back at Bucky and grabbed the railing white-knuckled. Bucky just stood still, despondent and bitter, unable to breathe with how much he didn't want to have that conversation anymore.

“I'm sorry to inform you, Buck, but you wouldn't be the first man I've ever kissed.” The words were harsh and cutting and did their job in making Bucky wince. “Just because you studied about me from a fucking history book doesn't mean you do _know_ me.”

Steve's fury was white and raw. Bucky's insides twisted in sudden recognition at his terrible mistake. He looked at Steve's tensed back and wished he'd fucking have the right thing to say other than, “I'm sorry.”

“Right.” The railing screamed in abject misery as Steve's tightened his hold on it. He inhaled sharply, shoulders coiled so tight for a moment Bucky feared they might sprain. Steve threw him a glance over his rock shoulder and confessed in a rush, “I wanted to kiss you the moment you asked me for my license and registration, completely unaware of who I am.”

“ _Steve_.” Bucky thought wildly that even if Steve had hit him with all his Captain America strength in the solar plexus, it still wouldn't have hurt so much.

“It doesn't matter.” Steve shook his head. “It doesn't matter. Here's the thing: you're allowed to refuse my kiss, of course, you are. I'd hate the thought of forcing myself on you in any shape or form. But please don't do it out of the simple assumption that I'd use you as an experiment. Because I've got enough human decency, Buck. I'd never – under any circumstance – do that to you. Not ever.”

Bucky watched Steve's tense back for what felt like ages, viciously biting the inside of his cheeks. He had promised himself time and time again that he'd get to know the real Steve and not operate based on the assumptions that he made over his Captain America persona. However, time and time again he had failed to do so. Steve had been right: just because Bucky read about him in a history book or two (or maybe ten or fifteen or basically anything that he could find or put his hands on), it didn't mean he knew anything real about him. Hadn't Steve proved so repeatedly since they'd become friends?

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose in a futile attempt to clear up his mind. Steve was an angry statue in front of him. It reminded Bucky of the Greek legends he had been reading when he was a child. About Titans, fallen from grace and forever lost. Steve was a Titan taken out of his time, whose reality had been completely altered. And people like Bucky with their blunders and their silly know-it-all attitudes reminded Steve of his failing continually.

At last Bucky understood.

“I wanted to kiss you the moment you opened the window and looked annoyed at me,” he confessed to Steve's back, voice hoarse and hands trembling. “I wanted to kiss you over a dozen times since then. I thought – I _assumed_ – that you weren't interested. That you were just being friendly.”

“What was friendly about the way I plastered myself all over you tonight?” Steve hissed but didn't turn back to Bucky. It hurt. It hurt a lot. But Bucky was going to grab his big boy pants and be a man for once. He took a step forwards.

“Things like this don't happen to me, Steve.”

“Things like this? What? Men trying to kiss you?”

“Kind and genuine men trying to kiss me. A man like _you_ trying to kiss me.” Bucky ran his fingers through his hair and pulled a little tighter. “I didn't know what to expect and you've been one step in front of me at every turn.” Bucky reached out for Steve and gently rested his hand over Steve's shoulder. “Can I come closer?” Steve hummed in acknowledgment and Bucky took another step and wrapped his arms around Steve's waist. He rested his cheek in between Steve's shoulder blades and held on. “I thought I was so special, that I was spending so much time with you that for sure I had a private glimpse into all your idiosyncrasies. I thought I already knew everything there was to know about you. But that was the most stupid assumption I could make.”

“No, the most stupid assumption was to think that I wouldn't be at least a little bit bi.”

“Did you listen to my conversation with Becca by any chance?”

“Nope, but your sister isn't as demure at asking questions as apparently, you are.”

“Are you telling me Becca already knows that you're bi?”

“Yeah.” Steve's shoulders loosened a little.

“I'm gonna kill her. Slowly and painfully.”

“I thought she might have mentioned something to you by now.”

“She didn't mention anything, the squirt.” Bucky rubbed his cheek on Steve's back. “Can you still forgive me for being such a moron and give me another chance?”

“Another chance at what?”

“At kissing for starters.”

“Well, this night is ruined. Can't do that anymore.” Steve gently turned and let Bucky hide his face in that warm place between Steve's shoulder and neck. Steve wrapped an arm around his shoulders, while the other wrapped around Bucky's waist, and pulled him closer. “We can't tell people that our first kiss was on the night when I told you that I'm leaving for a mission and you thought I was experimenting on you.”

“I hate you.” Bucky took a deep breath and rubbed his nose on Steve's warm skin. “Fine, be like that. Then when you're coming back. You better pucker up because I'm going to kiss you until my lips turn sore.”

“Really?” Steve squeezed tighter and kissed the crown of Bucky's hair. “Tell me more about it.”

“I'm going to map every inch of your lips, no detail shall escape me. I want to have your taste sharp on my tongue for days to come.”

“Jesus, Buck!”

“I didn't lie when I said that I wanted to kiss you for a very long time, pal.”

“Then tough luck on you, because my lips won't get sore easily. You might have to put up with some super-strength lips.”

“You're ridiculous, but bring it on, old man.”

“Oh personal attacks now.” Steve hid his chuckles into Bucky's hair. “Wow, this night is just getting worse and worse. There isn't really a moment you can't ruin, is there?”

“You should run. As far and as fast as you can because I'm an idiot.”

“My kind of idiot.” Steve hugged tighter and Bucky squeezed just as hard.

“Do you promise?” he mumbled in Steve's skin and was satisfied to feel him shudder. “Do you promise to come back and kiss me?”

“Promise.” The word was definitive and resolute.

“Until my lips get sore?”

“Until _my_ lips get sore.” Bucky's knees buckled but luckily, Steve's arms were still around him.

“Promise?” Bucky groaned, molten desire pouring through his veins in thick waves.

“Promise.”

They remained embraced for a long time afterward, the promise lingering between them, more powerful than an oath.

~*~*~

“What the hell are you still doing here?” Sheriff Hansen's gruff voice usually would manage to startle Bucky, make him feel like a kid again called in into the principal's office. As he was though, barely breathing, head full of cotton and tongue almost numb, Bucky just blearily looked up at the sheriff and blew his nose. Then, for good measure, he sneezed twice and reached for another tissue.

“What? I work here,” he replied uncomprehendingly after what felt like ages. He blew his nose again, disgusted at himself. Seriously, how was it possible for the human body to produce so much snot? It should have been impossible. Sheriff's shrewd almond eyes stared down at him, his mustache slightly twitching, probably in disgust.

“I thought that I told you this morning to go the hell home.” The sheriff gulped what seemed like half of his coffee before adding, “I'm certain we had this conversation in the morning when you showed up like death warmed over.”

“I don't want to go home,” Bucky whined like a two-year-old.

“Well, too bad because you're going.” Sheriff Hansen set his coffee cup on Bucky's desk and waved at the almost empty station. “I'm not in the mood to watch you spreading germs all over my station. Cough one more time and I'll have the whole goddamn crew asking for medical leave.”

“There's no one here.”

“Hey, what am I? Chopped liver?” Carla shouted from her desk, without raising her eyes from her files. Yesterday she decided to archive some of the files so currently, her desk was covered in a wild array of old files and seemingly useless reports.

“Fine. There's no one here, _apart_ from Carla.”

“Yes, which doubles your danger since Carla is the best of you lot.”

“And don't you forget it!” she shouted again, still as impassive as ever. Hansen watched her a little more, a small curl of lips betraying how much he cared for her. Bucky suspected some sort of unrequited love was going on there, but he wasn't insane enough to tell other people his assumptions. Not for fear of what Sheriff Hansen might do to him, but for Carla – that woman was more dangerous than Black Widow and Captain Marvel put together.

“I don't want to go home.” Bucky sniffled and took another sip of his hot tea. Carla had taken one look at him in the morning and ten minutes later had come back with the biggest pot of peppermint tea that any human could imagine. Bucky hadn't stopped drinking from it ever since. “I still have some reports to do,” he managed to croak, though he felt more and more like his throat had been rubbed raw with sandpaper and nothing seemed to ease the pain.

“Yeah? Reports?” The good – God forbid to mention _old –_ Sheriff crossed his arms as his eyes narrowed even more, a frown so deep marring his forehead that his eyebrows almost turned into a hairy worm. “And how many reports did you finish?”

Bucky blinked blearily at the screen of his computer and realized that he had been staring at the same line for the past two hours. He flushed, even more, a cold sweat breaking down his spine. He sighed, knowing fully well that he was trapped and had no other choice except coming out clean.

“None,” Bucky mumbled and blew his nose.

“Exactly. Look, not that I don't appreciate your dedication, Barnes – because I do, well not so much but enough to earn you a sticker for effort – but please go home. You're of no use to me and I do have the proof that you're at death's door. Come back when you've stopped imitating a biological bomb.”

“You'll regret saying this when I die on my couch and you've got no one to patrol that dead-ass corner of the highway.”

“Please,” the sheriff waved his hand dismissively and grabbed his cup of coffee again, “I can always find someone else to torture. Maybe I can even get a new recruit or two to replace you. Ah, I can almost picture them doing as I say, not taking loggers on their own and listening to orders. Like you know, going home when they've got the flu.”

“This is really hurtful, Sheriff, I hope you do realize that. I almost wish I'd die tonight if only so you'd feel guilty about sending me home.”

“One, I've never heard about anyone complaining so much that his boss sent them home as you do at the moment. Two, I'd never feel guilty. I'd just call a hazmat team to take care of your apartment and ensure Becca isn't affected.”

“Perhaps, but then I –”

“Barnes, please go home.” Hansen's voice turned a little softer. “You're clearly not well – let Becca take care of you. Come back when you're not hacking one of your lungs all over my goddamn desk.”

“It's _my_ desk,” Bucky grumbled but started to gather his things.

“Actually, it's mine because I'm the goddamn sheriff and everything in this station belongs to me.”

“Perhaps you mean to the state of Michigan.”

Ignoring Bucky's remark, Sheriff Hansen turned slightly to Carla and said in a much nicer tone, “Please make sure this idiot does go home and not stay here to infect my whole goddamn station.”

“You got it, Sheriff.” Carla closed one of the files she was reading and finally looked back at them. “I think I should speak with Doc Martin and see whether she could pay a visit to this insolent brat.”

“Good idea, Carla. As always, I don't know what we'd do without you.” Sheriff Hansen scowled at Bucky one more time for good measure before disappearing into his office.

“Crush and burn most likely,” Carla replied loud enough to be heard even behind closed doors.

“You do realize that I'm a full grown up and I can take care of myself, right?” Bucky intervened before coughing loudly. His whole chest caught fire, pressing against the entire rib cage, and his heart stammered in his chest as if in a poor attempt to get the hell out of there.

“Yeah, it's a convincing statement.” Carla rolled her eyes as she grabbed the phone. “I'd almost believe it if I didn't know that you're currently sick because you spent three hours in the pouring rain looking for Terrance Gordon's service dog.”

“Hey, I did find him!” His genuine outrage made him cough painfully, eyes teary and throat sore.

“Yes, because you're the only moron, who thought of going through every back alley without at least a raincoat.” Carla was already dialing the number of Dr. Martin's office but still managed to stare Bucky down. “Oh, I can't wait to tell this story to Mr. Rogers when he gets back. He'll be happy to hear that not only were you a moron when looking for that damn dog but also now when you refused to take the medical leave that Sheriff Hansen so kindly and generously offered you.”

“I'm not afraid of Steve,” Bucky groused and grabbed his coat. He lost whatever color he had left in his cheeks but it was because he stood up too abruptly, not because he was afraid that Steve's protective streak was a mile wide and he might not hear the end of it. “Who needs enemies when I've got friends like you?”

“Whatever, Bucky.” Carla's voice turned sweeter as she suddenly focused on the voice at the other end of the phone line. “Oh hi, Janelle. How are you, darling?” She listened to the answer and chuckled softly. “Aren't we all? Listen, my lovely, I've got a favor to ask. One of our deputies is coming down with something and he'd really appreciate a visit to his home address any time Doc is available today. Yeah, it's the Barnes boy. Yeah, I know what you mean. He's more stubborn than a mule this one, but Sheriff Hansen managed to put some goddamn sense into him. Yes, lovely, any time in the afternoon. The way he looks right now, I'd say he'll be lucky if he has enough strength to get home. Hell, the boy can't even glare at me properly.” Carla laughed at something else that Janelle said and smirked mischievously. “That's what I said. Thank you. As always you're the sweetest one. And I'm not saying that only because you're my best friend.”

“Actually, you are,” Bucky mumbled but made sure that Carla didn't hear him because he might be unwell, but he still knew what was best for him.

“Doc will pay you a visit in the afternoon, boy,” she said haughtily as she hung up. “Make sure you're at home.”

“Where else would I be?” Bucky asked incredulously.

“Oh, I don't know, maybe back at the Miller place, mooning over that goddamn place and hoping that the good old Cap would return quicker.”

“I seriously don't know what you're talking about right now.” Bucky pretended he was looking for his thermos bottle to pour some of the tea, but he could feel his blush spreading all over his face, ears burning. “Also, please stop calling me boy. It's patronizing.”

“I'm almost twenty years older than you. I can patronize you as much as I want.” Carla's red lips curled into a kinder smile. “Just go home and take care of yourself. Call me if you need anything.”

“Thank you, I will.” Bucky looked around the office one more time before he waved at her. “Okay, I'm going.”

“Go.” Her phone rang shrilly enough to startle to both of them. With a dismissive gesture of her hand, she took the receiver and answered the phone.

Bucky went to Hansen's office to let him know that he was leaving, checked his phone, and then left. The day was greyer than the usual. Fat ashen clouds seemed to want to smother the surrounding buildings, hanging low above the rooftops and trees. The downpour had been constant for the past three days, varying in intensity but still shrouding the entire area in a cold and humid blanket of constant rain.

The drive home was short and uneventful. Bucky went straight to his apartment and took a hot shower because he didn't want to stink when Dr. Martin would come and check up on him. He checked his phone again as he got out of the shower. No message. He dressed in a pair of flannel sweats and a t-shirt, grabbing a hoodie from the wardrobe. He made sure that everything was within an arm's reach before he crashed on the couch and pulled the fleecy blanket over him, staring blankly at the dark screen of the TV.

He sniffled a little before he curled in a fetal position and pulled the blanket over his head, groaning as his patheticness.

_Steve lied._

It's been more than a week since he left. During all this time, Bucky received just one message, assuring him that Steve was all right but that it would take a little longer than he expected. Bucky hadn’t been surprised because he'd seen the battle on TV. _Live_. Half of the news channels had shown what had been going on in Washington and Boston, while the other half had been trying to find out the source of this new wave of enemies. Apparently, they were coming from the sea – of that much they were all certain. When the worst of the battle had worn off, Steve sent the text. No message since then.

Bucky tried to sigh but his sore throat and his runny nose made everything harder. Ten days and almost twenty hours later and Steve still hadn't come back. And all this anguish, all this longing – how was it possible to miss so much a person that had been in his life just for the past month? Bucky scrunched his eyes closed and burrowed deeper into the comfortable couch.

The promise of that kiss had kept him awake at night. The promise of the softness of those lips, their fullness. The promise of those calloused hands cupping his cheeks. The promise of his arms wrapping around his waist or his shoulders and holding on and on.

Perhaps he wasn't entitled to such thoughts. How many people didn't desire Captain America? How many people didn't want to warm up his bed? The thing was, Bucky had become rather fond of Steve Rogers, the punk that would smirk knowingly, that would come out and put a coat on Bucky's shoulders. The man that bought a haunted house and the man that dressed as a cop just because he was a little shit. God, Bucky missed him! Even more than the promise of that kiss.

Bucky groaned and pulled the blanket back. He needed to stop being a pathetic mess so he turned on the TV and pretended that he was channel surfing because he couldn't find a good movie or a re-run of some show rather than searching more news about the Avengers in general and Captain America in particular.

This was how Dr. Martin and Becca found him several hours later, staring blankly at the TV screen. Dr. Martin shook her head in dismay when she listened to his chest as he miserably inhaled and exhaled, each movement a painful jarring of his entire rib cage. She left him with a prescription for antibiotics (the strong kind) and advice on how to take care of himself (the strong kind as well, the ones that sounded more like threats than advice). Bucky particularly disliked the stubborn jut of Becca's jaw – it didn't bode well for him.

“I've never met anyone who's worse at taking care of themselves than you.” Becca scowled at him as she threw away the used up tissues and set another unopened box close to him. “I'll go and fill in the prescription. I'll come back with the medicines and some food so I'd better find you here, not moving a muscle.”

“Even if I wanted to move, I can't,” Bucky whined but his sister watched him impassively.

“Yeah, yeah.” She listened to the kettle boiling and went to make him a new cup of hot tea with some honey and lemon. “Drink this until I come back,” she said when she returned, steaming cup in her hand. She watched him closely as he grabbed the cup gingerly and brought it to his lips.

“Thank you, Beccs.”

“Yeah, whatever.” She sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just please, stay here and don't move from this couch.”

“Promise.”

She huffed but she left him alone with a worried pinch to her mouth. Bucky sighed again and pulled up the fleecy blanket again. It was going to be a long afternoon.

~*~*~

“Come on, Lions! Jesus H Christ, you're getting slaughtered there!” Dum Dum shouted then took a swig from his beer in frustration. Bucky sniffled miserably as he watched Stafford talking with Glasgow on the small screen. He had no idea what they were talking about but he sure as hell hoped it was about changing strategy because they all sucked at the moment and at this pace, the Jets were going to wipe the floor with them.

“I honestly don't know why you guys make me watch this crap,” Bucky whined for good measure, though it all came out garbled. Bucky could never quite comprehend the expression _to have a shot of broken glass,_ but in the last few days, he had reached a new sense of understanding, as his throat sure as hell felt like a victim of a shot of broken glass mixed with gravel. Otherwise, Bucky couldn't explain for the life of him why his throat hurt so much. “They make me even more miserable than I already am.”

Bucky sneezed for the billionth time. He was wrapped up in a new fleece blanket, courtesy of Becca – _I'm an awesome sister and you know it_ – and he held a hot cup of steaming tea, courtesy of Dernier – Jacques didn't have anything to say about his awesomeness but it was implied. Bucky coughed again and swallowed thickly as he looked back at Dum Dum, Monty and Gabe, sprawled all over his minuscule living-room. Morita squirmed a little to find a better position so that Bucky's head rested on his shoulder more comfortably – it spoke volumes about how worried his friends were for him if even Morita raised his self-imposed ban to join them for the Sunday afternoon game.

Jim's tradition was to avoid all social gatherings until he'd finish the first draft of the novel that he was working on at the time. Then he'd give himself time to process what he'd been writing and then start all over again by editing the hell out of the first draft. It was Bucky's incredible privilege to be friends with a guy whose first novel spent almost thirty weeks on the _New York Times_ bestseller list.

“Every time I think they'll make a comeback,” Jim said, completely ignoring Bucky's whining, “I take a look at the stats, then watch Stafford and Wilson fumbling around and I lose all hope.”

“You mean Decker and Ragnow?” Monty pipped from his armchair.

“Who gives a shit? They all make me cry with how much they suck.”

They watched despondently as the Jets advanced again and Dum Dum huffed before finishing his beer. Bucky looked at them fondly from the couch – his friends had shown up earlier in the day with beer in one hand and chicken soup in the other, decidedly happy to see that, while Bucky still looked like he was at the death's door, he was alive enough to snark at them and let himself be convinced to watch the game.

The past four days had been miserable enough. The chest infection had turned out to be quite serious. Consequently, Bucky was on a strict regime of chicken soup and hot tea, lozenges and just about every goddamn lemon and jar of honey that could be found in Waterfalls. He was called by just about everyone in their little town and their mother to talk about ailments for his chest infection when all he wanted to do was crawl back into bed and die in it. He hadn't realized how much crap was on TV during daytime until he was forced to watch it. He couldn't even insist on going back to work because he felt like he had barely enough energy to go to the bathroom and take care of his daily ablutions.

“Heard anything from Cap?” Dum Dum asked abruptly during a commercial break. Bucky looked at him, bleary-eyed and thick-headed. It hurt even to move, but the question still managed to lance through him with accurate precision.

“No,” he croaked. “He sent a message after the main battle just to say he was okay but nothing since.”

“Should we call the Tower?” Gabe promptly suggested, playing with his phone as if he was ready to call the Avengers Tower and ask for Captain America. Because surely there was someone who was forwarding random phone calls to Steve.

“No, we shouldn't.” Bucky swallowed thickly and reached for his cup of tea. “He promised that he'll be back. I trust his word.” He drank from the half-empty cup with small sips, each of them painful.

“Yeah, but don't you think –”

“I think that what Bucky's trying to say is that perhaps Cap is still on a mission,” Jim interrupted Gabe gently, pressing against Bucky's side in a show of silent solidarity. “Just because we've met the guy, doesn't mean that we know what being Captain America entails. Hell, I bet he goes on such secret missions that not even the president is aware of them.”

“Or maybe he's negotiating a peace treaty with those mer-people or whatever the hell they were.” Monty shrugged and took a swig from his beer. “God, seriously, I miss the days when an alien invasion seemed like the most absurd thing that could happen to us.”

“Aren't you happy that you didn't stay in New York?” Gabe pushed a socked foot into the meat of Bucky's thigh. He grunted but didn't move.

At the beginning of his career as a police officer, Bucky had a brief stint in New York at one of the precincts in Brooklyn. He didn't hate it there but it had been an odd experience to him as he wasn't used to people always being in a such a hurry, indifferent to other people's plights. However, Bucky would have remained there for much longer, had it not been for a pretty bad case that cured him of any romantic visions that he might have had about his profession and made him decide to move back to Waterfalls. As fate had it, Sheriff Hansen was just in need of a new deputy.

“Yeah, yeah.” Bucky waved a dismissive hand and watched Gabe through his eyelashes. He wanted to add something snarky to stomp on Gabe's gloating as he'd been the most adamant that Bucky should move back to Waterfalls and had even secured an interview with Sheriff Hansen long before others had the chance at it. But nothing came. His mind was fuzzy and full of longing and he'd been in and out of it for the most of the past four days.

The game was back on and they let him rest. It was absurd to think that he needed more rest since that's what he's been doing for the past few days, but sticking to Morita's side, pliant and warm, he could feel his eyelids grow heavier. He could hear his own wheezing, chest tight as if caught in a vice, pressure almost unbearable at times. Still, it was oddly comforting to sit there on the couch surrounded by his friends – he was able to slip in a peaceful doze that took his mind away from his chest infection and stormy blue eyes. At least for a few precious moments.

The guys stayed late in the afternoon, long after the game was over, so they could feed him some chicken soup again – Bucky was beginning to be disgusted just at the thought of swallowing any more of it, but it was the only thing that didn't make him wince in pain when slipping down his throat. What was probably more surprising was the fact that they cleaned after themselves and ensured that all the bottles and the remains of their takeout had been stored away appropriately.

They made him more tea and checked that he took his pills. They hovered a little more over him as if Bucky was dying – which he wasn't – or as if he was about to do something stupid as soon as he'd be left alone – again, he wasn't. The gods of the chest infections had caught up with him and they wouldn't budge until Bucky had suffered through their entire wrath. Nobody could say that Bucky lacked a flair for drama.

After they left with a promise to visit soon, Bucky managed to gather enough strength to take a shower and change into clean clothes. He couldn't smell the clothes freshener but the sensation of clean and non-sweaty fabric on his skin was heavenly. The temptation to sleep on the couch was almost overwhelming so it took a lot more effort to move everything in the bedroom, grabbing his laptop in the process.

He made himself comfortable, hoarding just about every pillow that he owned and then some when his phone rang.

“I'm not dead,” he answered, though it did sound like he was on his way there, his voice hoarse.

“That's what you say every time I ask you how you feel,” his sister snarked back, an odd sense of trepidation coming from her. “Sorry I can't come tonight but my guests are really lovely and I'd rather have a nice conversation with them than listening to you wheezing.”

“You're not allowed to be mean to ill people, pip-squeak! Haven't our parents taught you that?”

“I must have missed that lesson.” Bucky could almost see her smile, large and unhurried, and his heart filled with affection, especially when her voice turned more serious and said, “Look, I can probably squeeze a few moments later on in the evening to check up on you.”

“Stop worrying, sis.” Bucky pulled the phone away and blew his nose, then returned to the conversation at hand. “I promise that the guys did as you instructed them to do and took great care of me. I've never seen Dum Dum so nervous in my life. What the hell did you and Joanne do to the poor guy?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” His sister sounded distracted already, her attention already sneaking back to her guest. It was unusual to receive guests during this time of the year when most of the people ran as far as they could from the area.

“Of course you don't.” Bucky sneezed then winced at the pain in his chest. “Look, Beccs, don't worry about me. Take care of your guests and I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Sure you don't mind?”

“I'll mind if I see you here tonight. Most likely I'll drink some more of the delicious tea that Jim made and go to bed.”

“Oh, I see how it is now.” Her smirk was painfully audible. “My tea-making skills aren't good enough for you anymore.”

“Shut up,” he grumbled and looked around at the small room. “Just please bring some food tomorrow. Anything that it isn't chicken soup.”

“Tomato soup?”

Bucky made a face. “That's even worse.”

“I know, that's why I said it.” His sister cackled. “But fine, I'll try and bring something soft and gooey that you can eat.”

“It already sounds as disgusting as you wanted it to sound.”

“Then I'm proud of myself.” She covered the receiver and spoke to someone before coming back on the line. “Look, Buck, I got to go but I'll check up on you tomorrow morning.”

“Okay, thank you. G'night.”

“G'night.”

Bucky put the cell on his nightstand to charge and then he burrowed deeper under the covers, fully intending to watch a movie and go to sleep. But it was easier said than done when all he could do was searching for news about the Avengers. Apart from differently angled short videos from the previous battle and then the ensuing press conference, in which mostly Tony Stark talked, there was nothing new. Bucky sighed. Or well, sighed as much as his terrible chest pain and clogged nose allowed him to.

He grabbed his phone again and dialed Steve's number. It went straight to voicemail and Bucky hung up, without leaving a message. He didn't want Steve to hear him wheezing and barely able to talk and then worry about Bucky. Would he worry?

There was a soft knock on the door and then his front door opened and closed.

“Becca, I told you I can take care of myself,” Bucky tried to raise his voice but it came out like a painful croak that made him wince. How come in spite of all the cough medication and the antibiotics, his throat seemed to get worse rather than better?

“From what I heard, you're doing a pretty lousy job.” Steve leaned against the doorway, bashful and hesitant.

“Steve.” Bucky thought that his ability to infuse as much longing as humanly possible within his voice would have been impaired. By the sound of it, he had been utterly wrong. Something flashed for a moment in Steve's eyes, something so raw and naked that even Bucky was able to notice it, in spite of his terrible health at the moment. He reached for Steve and made grabby hands. “ _Steve_ ,” he said his name again as an answer to a long-forgotten prayer. And Steve didn't disappoint.

In two steps, he was by the bedside and before he could even sit down properly, he wrapped his arms around Bucky's torso and held tight. Bucky rested his head on Steve's shoulder and tightened the hug. Steve was solid and warm and for a moment, everything was right with the world.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, my deepest thanks to lambchop33, who's always kind and helps tremendously with her enthusiasm for the story. The remaining mistakes are mine and mine alone.
> 
> Apologies for the late update as usually I'm pretty punctual. Unfortunately, in a weird case of life imitating art or vice-versa, I managed to get a terrible chest infection, the likes of which I haven't had in a while. Suffice it to say, it was miserable. So this is also your explanation why Bucky ended up with a similar ailment rather than a simple cold. :))) Also, no disrespect was intended to Detroit Lions but the Jets did wipe the floor with them. Ironically, they won a game against the Patriots (I know little to nothing about American football, but I had to laugh at that, knowing who's a fan of this team). 
> 
> Anyway, if you made it this far and didn't lose your patience yet, thank you for reading. :)


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